


And Victory Is In A Simple Soul

by ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anachronistic, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Edward Richtofen Is Jeff Bezos, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Helen A. Park Is A Jedi Master, In Which Black Ops Cold War Gets A Remix No One Asked For, Kapono "Naga" Vang Is Cad Bane, M/M, Marvel Cinematic Universe References, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Novelization, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quote: The Force works in mysterious ways, Reader!Bell, Reader-Insert, Russell Adler Is A Sith Lord, Samantha Maxis Is Captain America, Star Wars References, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Force, Titanfall Reference, Title From A RWBY Song, Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin Is A Sith Lord, Yirina Portnova Is Jack Cooper, at least not entirely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal/pseuds/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal
Summary: But nothing is ever simple, is it?Ahem...The balance of the Cold War is shifting.In 1981, the Soviet Spy known as Perseus seeks to change the course of humanity through a radical plan of action that will lead to the death of millions, and only a select few who believe that he even exists can stop him. With time running out, CIA Agent Russell Adler and his elite special forces team must uncover Perseus’ master plan and stop him before it’s too late.Which would be easier to do if his so-called “elite special forces team” didn’t consist entirely of people who really should be in therapy. Or jail. Or both. And if they weren’t held together by a common desire to kill things, save the world, get paid and get laid, and being jacked up on enough hormones to give High School Musical a run for it's money.Or, in which COD: BOCW gets a remix laced with crack and anachronistic pop-culture references, courtesy of someone improvising the whole damn thing.
Relationships: Alex Mason/Frank Woods, Bell/Helen A. Park, Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay/Kwan Song, John Baker/Jason Hunter
Comments: 229
Kudos: 56





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because we don't have a fucking Star Wars intro format.

//

From a young age, she’d always loved the rain.

She stood upon the rooftop, looking up into the stormy, whipping, willowy winds, and dared the universe to do it’s worst. She had  _ lived  _ through what a fallen universe had to offer, seen things that would chill blood and freeze bone a thousand times over, and come out all the stronger for it. A simple rainstorm was nothing compared to what she had seen, experienced, done. And as the storm subjected the city to the chilling touch of rain, she simply stood there, gazing out over the city and storm alike.

Something was changing in the world.

There was...someone, out there, far from her grasp, who had in his heart malice and hatred for his fellow man, and he was concocting a truly malicious design that would see millions dead and a continent laid waste, were his plans to succeed. The man was proof that despite the horrors she had witnessed and performed, it was  _ man,  _ not monster, that created the greatest evil of them all. 

But, as always, when darkness arose, so did light rise to meet it, and while the bearer of said light wasn’t the most ideal choice, she supposed he would have to do. Already, he was close to making the first move, starting the chess game, entering into a duel of wits with someone he thought long lost to the sands of time. Each of them had an army of pawns, knights, bishops, rooks, and, of course, a queen, and once the game began, the moves made would change the world forever.

But there was one particular piece she was interested in.

A single individual, far from her and yet so close, was the key to it all. Though the players on both sides of the board did not realize it yet, the figure that was blissfully unaware of the role they were soon to play was the delicately balanced chess piece that would decide who lived, who died, who told their story. In some other timeline, some other world, she might’ve tried to assume the role herself, or to warn the one who was the key of what was to come, but she had learned a long time ago that trying to keep things going along a set path, along a  _ cycle, _ would only bring pain and misery. At least...at least this way, there might be hope that the path to be forged might be a brighter one, for those which she’d seen had definitely not been so.

_...consume that which is dear... _

_ The west falls today... _

_...it was never personal. _

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, feeling a tear slide down her face, mixing with the rain. What was to come, the suffering that would befall the one who she held close to her heart...she almost wished she didn’t have to know, almost wished that the world would find some other champion to stand against the darkness, almost wished that she hadn’t had to do what needed to be done, so as to ensure the world kept turning, safe from the monsters that lurked in the dark, but she was cursed, had been since the day she was born, and it was a curse that had been handed down to her most cherished one. Bracing herself and gathering her resolve, she called forth ethereal energies and let the wind swirl about her, eyes sparkling with arcane power, before vanishing into the void between time and space itself, to a destination known only to her. 

_ “I’m sorry, my child.” _ Echoed the voice of Samantha Maxis.

//

In a boardroom in the heart of Moscow, there was a man overlooking the city.

He was of an older sort, with grey hair and a weathered face, the years had clearly not been kind to him. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he had a serious expression writ upon his face. He was, after all, a serious man, in a serious land, with a serious line of hand and a serious band. Levity was for those who were blissfully unaware of the truth, the truth that the very land he lived in was dying, figuratively as well as literally. It was a truth that only a few knew, the man, and the associates who stood so loyally by him. 

“Comrades…”

The man turned to address those in the room, those few burdened with the truth. “...the United States and her allies slowly consume that which is dear to us.” He looked from one figure to another, from a mobster to a weapons dealer to a military man to a spy and back again, on and on until he laid his eyes upon the last one in the room, his most trusted, his most favored. The one who had never failed him, never hesitated, never faltered. “Our leaders are blind to the truth. The truth that only we know.” He lifted a hand, clenched his fist. “If we allow our beloved country to continue on the path it is now, the Soviet Union will crumble, and a world with two superpowers will become a world with one, the United States. This cannot be allowed.” He lowered his clenched fist, his point made. “It is our moral duty to act when our leaders will not, as we have acted before in the best interests of our nation, so shall we again.” 

And so he laid out his plans.

He told his followers of the dark secrets the United States had been hiding, secrets that would soon be turned to their advantage. He told his followers of the parts they would play in this operation, what they would do to ensure that the Soviet Union would rise once more from the decadent squalor it had fallen into. The leaders who governed the country were blind, after all, so very, very blind. He would make them see, whatever the cost was. The stakes were too high to let such naive blindness go on.

After all, it was the moral duty of Perseus to make the world see the truth.

//

_ “When I die and they lay me to rest-” _

_ “-gonna go to the place that’s the best-” _

_ “-when I lay me down to die-” _

_ “-goin’ up to the spirit in the sky-” _

The music that had begun to play in the elevator washed over ears too busy to appreciate them, though admittedly, the one hearing the music - hearing, but not listening - wasn’t really the type to appreciate it anyways, he was always much more a fan of the classics, not this newfangled stuff. But don’t let that cloud your perceptions and make you assume he was a grumpy old man yelling at clouds, he did consider the music reasonably pleasant, and he didn’t mind the beat, but he had way more important things on his mind.

Like, say, debriefing the president.

Deputy Officer Emerson Black of the Central Intelligence Agency had a job to do, and at the moment, it was relaying the news to the president about what had recently been revealed about the Iran Hostage Crisis. Admittedly, it seemed like a bit late in the afternoon to do so, but it was important, and the world didn’t stop turning just because one’s office hours were over, especially in a job like  _ this,  _ where “work” and “finished” were never used in the same sentence, unless “never” was involved somewhere along the line. And so, with that in mind, Black flashed his identification to the guards stationed at the Oval Office, and after a moment spent making sure that he was, in fact, Emerson Black--which he was, no one else looked that happy on Government ID, was let in.

“Mr. President.”

President Ronald Wilson Reagan, 40th of the noble-ish line of Presidents and recently sworn in to the shock of some guy named Doc Brown, looked up from his desk to acknowledge Black’s entrance. “We have two names linked to the hostage crisis.” Offering the folder tucked beneath his arms to the president, who opened the folder and began to read, he continued on. “Arash Kadivar and Qasim Javadi.” He paused once more, and waited patiently for the president to complete his analysis. “Just say the word, and we’ll take care of the problem.” He said.

For a moment, Reagan said nothing, and then he looked up at Black, a grim expression upon his face. “It is time to send a message to the world.” He said, setting the folder down and looking Black in the eye.

_“There will be_ _no more hostages.”_

//


	2. Nowhere Left To Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reagan's message is sent.
> 
> Oh, and lots of things explode.

//

_“Now everybody, have you heard-”_

The music in the bar was as expected, rhythmic, pulsing, good for getting an evening going.

_“-if you’re in the game-”_

Technically, it was early morning, but that didn’t really matter to Russell E. Adler, forty-four years of age and of the opinion that the current one was going to be a rough one. Despite the time, he was wide awake, standing at the small table in the nondescript bar, his left hand tapping metallic fingers onto an equally metallic bar table, waiting for his contact to arrive. He wasn’t alone, no, no he wasn’t. But his company was a bit too busy focusing on the photo in his hands to be much of a conversation partner, and frankly, he kind of appreciated the silence. 

_“-then the Stroke’s the word-”_

Of course, “peace and quiet” was an oxymoron in a bar, but well, what _wasn’t_ an oxymoron in today’s world? The Cold War was pretty hot in some places, the United States were hardly united on a lot of things, and the Soviet Union was having some pretty big problems with unity as of late. It was his job to make sure that all three didn’t get out of hand, at least in such a manner that would cause a nuclear fireball to end Adler’s life and his dreams of one day owning a ranch out in the South, where he could ride horses and shoot fools who looked at him funny, which wasn’t actually a big stretch from his actual line of work, if he thought about it. He just didn’t ride horses, though motorcycles were a reasonably close second. Less gassy too, now that he thought about it, so maybe he’d ditch the retirement plans and just keep on keepin’ on with his current course in life.

_“-don’t take no rhythm-”_

His watch ticked, gently pulsing to remind him that a new hour had just dawned upon him. Any moment now, his contact would arrive, and if he didn’t, well, it wasn’t like Adler was new to his job. He’d improvise if he had to, it was his strong suit, after all. And he had the best by his side, so he felt quite certain in his chances to accomplish the task set out before him. He flexed his fingers, listening to the soft grind of metal on metal. His prosthetic was concealed by the jacket he wore, mostly anyways, but no one really noticed the black and gold-hued fingers in this lighting.

_“-don’t take no style-”_

The door in the corner of the bar tinkled open, and a familiar figure stepped through. Ah, here he was, at last. A little bit late, but Adler could excuse it. It wasn’t like the target was going anywhere. Or at least, he wouldn’t be going anywhere until it was too late, considering he’d spent literally the entire new year doing nothing but ringing it in. The figure spotted him, and began to walk over, and Adler sighed, blew out a puff of smoke, and took another drag of his cigarette.

_“-gotta thirst for killing-”_

It was showtime.

//

**_Nowhere Left To Run_ **

**_Captain Alex Mason - CIA Special Activities Division_ **

**_Amsterdam, The Netherlands_ **

**_3:43 AM, January 22, 1981_ **

“Are you sure we can trust the police, Adler?” Asked Alex Mason, forty-seven years of age and somehow feeling like the younger one in the room. The man in front of him, three years his junior, simply nodded and took another drag from his cigarette.

“Hans has done more for less, Mason. He’ll hold up his end of the bargain.” Said Adler, twirling the little shaft of nicotine in his fingers. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about people, it’s that they all have weaknesses.”

“And what are Hans’ weaknesses?” Mason asked, making a note to ask Adler about _his_ weaknesses later.

“Oh, the usual. Money, beautiful women, a desire to do the right thing.” Adler replied in flippant, dismissive fashion. “He also has a love of spy movies and dreams of being in one. Seeing as we’re the closest he’s gonna get in his line of work, well, he’s eager to get a bit part in the show, let’s just put it that way.” He took another drag from his cigarette, Adler’s way of capping off a sentence, no doubt.

“How do you know all that?” Mason wondered. The mission dossier had simply said the name of their contact, and nothing else. Typical Hudson.

“I was here on an op a few years back.” Adler declared. “Played him in a game of cards, took him for everything he had. Got a good look at what goes on inside his head, too. Ever since, when I’m in town and need an angle I can’t get myself, I go to him. Flash him some dollars, insinuate you have an in with a girl he’s got his eye on, suggest that you’re on a secret mission...well, he’s the kind that jumps at the casting call.” A little tinkling got his attention, and Adler turned towards the door. 

“That’ll be him.”

Taking one last look at the photo in his hands, Mason drew his lighter and flicked it open, igniting the flame and setting the photo alight. As the flames quickly ate the photograph, he dropped it into the ashtray, trusting the small fire would do its job soon enough. The man that walked up to their table looked like any ordinary man walking up to join his friends, if one ignored the police badge on his jacket, that was.

“Adler.” Said Hans Timmerman, police chief, James Bond bit-part seeker, and surprisingly weak-minded fool susceptible to seduction by a Sith Lord. It was that last part that explained why the former two parts had conspired to bring him here tonight, but don’t let anyone tell you that Hans didn’t deserve his spot as the police chief, he _was_ competent, but absolutely out of his league when it came to Russell Adler.

“Glad you could join us, Hans.” Adler said in greeting, gesturing at Mason. “You remember Mason, don’t you?”

“I do.” Hans said, giving a nod to Mason, who nodded back. 

“We clear to move on the target?” Mason asked in a low voice, and Hans pursed his lips briefly, then nodded.

“Qasim is in his apartment, partying. He has several dozen “friends” in there, so he’s well protected. Once you start working, I can only keep my men out of the area for fifteen minutes, so whatever you plan on doing, you’ll have to do it fast.” He looked towards Adler. “I hope you brought an army.”

“I don’t need an army, I have Woods and Mason.” Adler declared, before smashing his cigarette into his own ashtray, grinding it between metal fingers. “If that’s all, we’ll go to work.”

“It is. Good luck.” Hans said, nodding his goodbye before leaving the table. Watching him go, Mason fished some money out of his wallet and set it down on the table, waving a waitress over to let her know that they were done using the table.

“Come on, Mason, if we don’t move fast, Woods will probably start the party without us.” Adler remarked, motioning for the CIA operative to follow him. Mason did so, gently meandering around some fellow partygoers. Even three weeks into the new year, people were still celebrating, mostly because the holiday spirit hadn’t quite left due to the optimism that was New Year 1981. Following Adler out the exit, Mason stepped into the cool morning air, and-

“Hey Mason!”

“Woods, you look like hammered shit!” Mason called out, waving jauntily at his brother-in-arms, best friend and husband, Frank Woods. The bearded man smirked and gave him a smile.

“Looks don’t count for shit in the New Year, this is Amsterdam, baby!” Woods said, patting the car he had pulled around. “Your party favor is in the trunk, Al. Didn’t bring one for Reznov though, so you’re gonna have to share if he wants in on this.”

“Reznov’s a little sad you didn’t think about him, but he’s good, got his own arrangements with that AK-74u I took from Rebirth.” Mason quipped, opening the trunk and pulling out the aforementioned “party-favor”. An M16, customized to Mason’s specifications, scope, barrel, magazine, everything. His trusty rifle that had been given to him in Cuba and served with him ever since, modified as the years went on and technology improved. Taking a moment to grab the accompanying ammo, Mason locked and loaded and made sure his baby was ready to rock and roll. Next to him, Woods and Adler had similarly loaded up, Woods bringing out his trusty Commando, and Adler had in his hands an M16A1, which the man had used since his first deployment to Vietnam almost a decade ago, and possibly beforehand, given some of the scars on the worn metal. Fitting choices given their personalities, Mason thought. With the armamental matter settled, the three men began to walk down the street, heading for Qasim’s apartment. 

“Okay, I gotta ask, do we _really_ need to take this guy alive?” Woods questioned, checking the alley for any signs of sentries. Nothing that he could see, which was proof that overconfidence made you careless, or, if the faint sounds of partying off in the distance proved, dumb enough to think you could party all New Year long without consequence.

“Just long enough to ask him some questions. After that, well…” Adler shrugged. “...things happen on the job.”

“Whatever you say, Poncherello.” Woods clipped, smirking as he motioned for Mason to push open the gate to Qasim’s apartment. How the man had purchased an entire building for his own usage was anyone’s guess, but everyone in the CIA was in agreement that one, Qasim hadn’t purchased it legally, and two, it wasn’t going to be a problem in about fifteen seconds. “Shall we ring in the New Year?”

“Oh, yes we shall.” Mason said, tossing a flashbang up and down. “Say the word, Adler.”

“Light ‘em up.”

//

Qasim Javadi was on top of the world.

A job well-done, money well-earned, and rewards well-enjoyed was the cycle that he lived by, and that was the reason why the man had quite literally spent the entire New Year doing nothing but celebrating it. A steady stream of friends, family and women had come to his apartment in search of a good time, money, and the finer things of life, all of which he was rather happy to provide. He was, after all, the kind of person who loved a good time, and after the most recent success, he was all too happy to have a good time. What else could you call the joy that came with making fools out of the Carter Administration? He’d heard that the United States had sworn in some other president, but he’d been a bit on the drunken side when he heard the news and so it didn’t really factor into his worldview. As far as he was concerned, he’d gotten what he wanted. He’d humiliated America and gotten paid handsomely to do it-

_Clunk._

Shaking himself out of his little reverie, Qasim looked towards the source of the noise. A strange, cylindrical device. Had he not been so tipsy, Qasim probably would’ve recognized it and survival instincts would’ve kicked in, but because Qasim was a bit tipsy, those instincts didn’t kick in at all, and as such-

“What the fu-”

-the world exploded into bright lights. 

//

“All right, break it up, party people!”

Ramming a lawn chair through the sliding glass door, crushing some unfortunate soul as he went, Woods stormed the apartment and began taking down the people who were still standing after Mason’s equally dramatic entrance. Behind him, Adler laid down cover fire, firing on anyone who didn’t match the description of their target. Some of those dazed managed to scramble for guns and start firing blindly, but it didn’t really matter all too much because Mason and company were clear-sighted and they weren’t, so it was a simple matter to sort out who went down and who didn’t.

“There!” Mason shouted, firing a few rounds in the direction of Qasim, who’d managed to shove himself to his feet and bolt for the stairs. A trio of militants who hung about that area fired on the team, but rounds from Adler put a stop to that, a metallic _ping-ping-ping_ echoing as three expertly aimed shots hit home. 

“I’m on him!” Woods declared, kicking a wounded militant in the face and charging up the stairs, Mason and Adler close behind. A man came through the door, a shotgun in hand, and was promptly slammed into the wall by Adler, a knife coming out to finish him off. “Through the window!” Added Woods, and wasting no time, Mason dove through it-

-and was immediately confronted with a club-wielding brute.

Diving beneath the man, Mason kicked his knees out from behind him and bonked him over the head with his M16, knocking him out. Jumping to his feet and behind cover, Woods charged in to lay down fire, picking off more of Qasim’s defenders. “He’s jumping across the roofs!” Mason yelled, and Woods’ Commando shifted bearing to put rounds on Qasim.

“Watch it Woods, we need him alive!” Adler shouted, flinging a grenade into the mix, the resounding _thump_ knocking down a number of thugs. 

“Just letting him know we care!” Woods called back, covering Mason as the man took the lead, his husband storming ahead and slamming into the front-line of Qasim’s friends like a sledgehammer. “Jesus he’s fast!”

“Well, he’s running out of rooftop!” Mason clipped, cutting down a few foolhardy souls who thought they could stand against him. Qasim reached the edge of the rooftop...and then leapt over the side. “Bastard’s crazier than I thought!” 

“No one out-crazy’s me!” Woods screamed, before diving right over the side after Qasim. 

“Woods! Fuck!” Mason grumbled, and then hopped the partition and went over the side as well. To his relief, it was a slanted roof, and so he and Woods--and Adler, who’d seen the spectacle and gone over it because why the hell not, slid down the incline, before leaping off and using their momentum to cut down the last of Qasim’s defenders. Qasim, to his credit, attempted to fire at them, but Woods shot his RPD out of his hands. At that point, Qasim attempted to flee, diving into a nearby window and slamming it shut hastily, but Adler, unfazed, simply reared back and punched right through it, his metal arm going through the glass, grabbing Qasim in a chokehold, and then pulling him back out.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.” Woods observed with a whistle as Qasim was dumped onto the ground, covered in glass and scratches. The trio patiently waited as Qasim recovered, stumbled to his feet-

“We can work something out-”

-and was punched in the face by Adler. He fell to the ground and groaned, and Mason was half-tempted to tell him to be glad Adler didn’t use his prosthetic arm, _that_ would’ve probably knocked all of Qasim’s teeth. “Mason, you’re up.” Said the man in question, and Mason nodded. The CIA operative set his M16 on the ground, marched over to Qasim, and picked him up, lifting him into the air and then slamming him down onto the roof, making sure that Qasim was dangling just over the side.

“You fucked with the wrong people, Javadi.” Mason hissed. “Tell us where Arash Kadivar is.”

“I...I...I just handle the money! I swear I don’t know where Arash is!” Qasim squeaked, fear shining in his eyes.

“You don’t understand the situation, do you?” Adler interjected, grabbing one of Qasim’s friends who had miraculously escaped the sweet grasp of Olivia, the Grim Reaper. The man was still alive, or at least, he _was_ alive for the ten seconds it took Adler to drag him to his feet and then fling him over the side of the building, where he fell with a horrendous scream and onto the pavement below with a _thwack_. 

“Y-you Americans have rules, you have rules!” Qasim protested, as Mason pushed him a bit and towards the edge of the building once more.

“Big surprise, you take hostages, the rules change. Or did you think Reagan was gonna roll over and take it like Carter?” Adler growled, stomping on Qasim’s leg and making the man scream. 

“Qasim, my friend-” Mason said. “-I know I seem like the bad cop, but believe me, I’m the _good cop,_ if you don’t talk, I’m gonna have to hand you to my friend Mr. Shades, and you’re not gonna enjoy what he has in mind. Do you want to be handed over to Mr. Shades?”

“”N-no! I don’t wanna be handed over!”

“Well, then are you gonna be a good boy and tell us where Arash is?” Mason asked, giving the man a saccharine smile. 

“Trabzon Airfield, Trabzon Airfield! He’s meeting someone at Trabzon Airfield, in Turkey, tomorrow night!” Qasim all but screamed, his desire to live overriding any loyalty to Arash. 

“Who’s he meeting with?” Woods asked, stepping into the scene.

“I, I swear I don’t know! I don’t know anything about them!” Qasim breathed. “Please, oh god I’m telling the truth, I’m telling the truth!”

You're _sure_ Arash will be in Turkey tomorrow?” Mason asked, once more, for clarity.

“Yes, yes! I swear my life on it!” Qasim mumbled incoherently, clearly overwhelmed with fright. “Please don’t kill me, please…”

“Fine.” Mason said, hauling Qasim back up onto solid ground, gently patting his shoulder. “Thanks for all your help, Qasim.” He said with a smile that was all teeth, watching as color returned to the man’s face and he took a perceptible breath of relief. 

“Thank you-”

That was as far as Qasim got before Mason drew his pistol and clubbed Qasim unconscious, knocking him out and inelegantly sending the man tumbling onto the roof. “I have a feeling he knows more than he’s letting in on.” Mason declared. “He’s coming with us.”

“Hey, if he’s emotionally constipated and holding back on some secrets that we really need to know, I’m all for helping him out. I am the loving, caring, empathetic and compassionate one in our marriage after all.” Woods said, twirling a knife for emphasis as he stared at Qasim’s crumpled frame.

“I was thinking we’d hand him over to Hudson. Probably better for Qasim’s mental health that way.” Mason said.

“What are you, a spoilsport now? When'd you go to Catholic school?” Woods jabbed, causing Mason to laugh.

“Seeing as it was your bright idea to not toss him off the roof, you’re the one loading him up.” Adler said, smirking slightly as Mason grumbled, but picked up Qasim’s unconscious form anyways and began lugging him towards the rooftop exit that Adler had been so kind to find. Pulling out his phone, Adler dialed and waited patiently for the receiver to pick up.

“Hudson, it’s me, Adler. Qasim broke, Arash will be in Trabzon tomorrow night. Oh, and we’re bringing you a belated Christmas present, so you can tell Weaver to stop bitching that we never get you anything nice…”

//

**_Eighteen Hours Later_ **

**_Trabzon Airfield, Turkey_ **

“Alright, let’s go find this bastard.” Woods said, watching as Mason casually wiped the blood off of his knife. The sentries here hadn’t been expecting them, and well, that had been their loss. “You got your sniper rifle?”

“Yep.” Mason hummed, drawing the weapon in question--an L96A1, reliable, effective, everything he could ask in a sniper rifle. “Find Arash, put a bullet in his head, run the fuck away. Simple plan.”

“I like the alternate version more, which involves finding him, killing him, and then everyone on the airstrip because they’re guilty by association.” Woods mused with a laugh, and Adler, in response, motioned for the duo to be quiet.

“Hush, you two. We’ve got a job to do.” He said, and all three men took cover behind a ridgeline. “Come on, let’s look for Arash. Mason, get out your binoculars.” Mason did exactly that, and as he began scanning, Woods and Adler too began to look around.

“I don’t see him.” Woods muttered after a minute of fruitless searching. “That’s not him either.” He said, after another one.

“Wait, there’s a truck coming, could be him…”

//

Inside the truck, there were three.

A driver in Spetsnaz gear, a man in a blue bomber-jacket with a tiger on the back, wearing a custom-made pair of glasses and a revolver at his side, and a figure who wore a black jacket with a red stripe on the right shoulder, obliviously tapping their foot to the beat of the music that played on their headphones. It was the second one who mattered the most in this particular transaction, however, as he read through the files that had been passed to him by his colleague, his colleague of whom was undoubtedly the source of Arash’s sour mood, which he had attempted to disguise...poorly at that, but his colleague was busy singing along to some band called _Rush_ and tapping their fingers on their knee as they did so.

Really, _how_ exactly did someone as...flighty as them become the best? 

Arash’s colleague was Perseus’ most favored, the one who never failed, never hesitated, never did anything less than give their all to the cause. It made him jealous, _he_ was to be the one favored by Perseus, the one who served at the side of their leader, not _them._ But instead, Perseus favored _his colleague,_ and as such, Arash was left to wander in the dark, alone and unappreciated by his countrymen, no rewards, no glory, no nothing.

He’d told the figure at his side the plan, which was about the only thing that had caused his colleague to remove their headphones and stop singing along to the damn music, and as the truck came to a stop, he decided to tap on their shoulder, so as to repeat his action. As they removed their headphones, he rolled down the window and stepped out of the truck. Subtly drifting a hand down to his revolver--a .44, to be exact, Arash smiled, drew it, said something about other plans-

“-I don’t want the competition.”

-and fired. Two rounds went into his colleague, two more into the driver. Suddenly, his shoulder blossomed with pain, and he saw that his colleague had drawn their M1911, and it was only due to good fortune--or something resembling it, that he was able to fire again, this shot causing his colleague to tumble back, hitting their head on the glass as they went, and go still. _It is finished, Perseus will reward me well._ He thought, as he clenched his bleeding shoulder and motioned for a medic to help him. Now all he had to do was handle that business at Duga and-

-then the medic’s head exploded.

//

“You missed, you missed! How could you miss? He was three feet in front of you. _You missed!”_

“Can it, Woods!” Mason shouted, as he dropped his sniper rifle, drew his M16 and started laying down fire at the nearest cluster of militants. Woods and Adler sprung up from their hiding spots and began cutting a path through Kadivar’s forces. “We need to stop that plane!”

“I’m not an air traffic controller, I don’t have authorization to tell that plane what it can and cannot do!” Woods shouted, emptying his Commando into a trio of baddies who stepped around a truck. “Goddammit, they’re getting away!”

“Not for long!” Adler shouted, clubbing someone with his M16A1, firing a shot into their head a second later. “That truck over there, it’s still running! Who’s up for a Sunday drive?” 

“I’m all for it!” Mason yelled, throwing a knife into the throat of a straggling opponent, snagging it from them as they collapsed to their knees. He dove into the truck’s bed, landing roughly on his ass, and began spraying bullets wildly into the night. Woods and Adler ran around and piled in, and after a moment, Woods hit the gas, punching the truck into high-gear and making Mason almost slide out. “Fuck, warn a guy, will ya?”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t missed, Mulan!”

“What was that?” 

“Shut it and lay down fire!” Adler shouted, firing on a truck that moved to intercept them. His shots hit the driver, and it flipped over and crashed spectacularly with a screech of crumpling metal. Oblivious to the carnage behind it, the plane continued to taxi down the runway, gathering up speed in a faster fashion as it went. It was still fast enough to evade the team, even if Woods was pushing the pedal to the metal, the metaphorical chase-scene music hitting a magnificent crescendo as they attempted to stop Arash’s getaway.

“Plane’s picking up speed-” Mason clipped, hastily slamming another clip into his rifle. “-gonna take off any minute now!”

“Like hell he is, RC out!” Adler declared, kicking open the car door and producing an RC-XD, dropping the remote-controlled robotic car of explosive doom onto the tarmac. Letting the door swing shut on its own, Adler brought out the controls and guided the little robot that could down the tarmac-

-only for a swerving truck to crush it.

“Well, that was a waste of perfectly good taxpayer money.” Mason observed in serene fashion, as the RC-XD blew rather prematurely--and boy did that sound familiar or what, taking out the truck in a spectacular explosion that left the plane completely untouched. Already, the plane had begun to lift off, just a little bit, but enough to elicit a- 

“Fuck, he’s getting away!” 

-from Woods. Looking about, Mason’s eyes flared as an idea popped into his head. It wasn’t the brightest idea he had ever come up with, but it was the brightest one he had on hand, and it would do. It had to.

“No he’s not!” Mason yelled back, before turning his eyes upon another vehicle coming at them, the figure in the back holding exactly what his idea, a _really_ dumb one, needed, and therefore ig became even more tempting. “Bring me alongside that truck at two-o-clock!” He yelled, and as Woods acquiesced with the command at lightning speed, Mason gave a war cry, leapt from the back of the truck and onto the roof of the second one. He bounced inelegantly along the roof and landed on the back, swinging his arms and legs at the men in the truck bed, knocking them all off of it. Picking up an RPG that one of the men had dropped in the confusion, he drew his sidearm, shot the driver, and then leapt back into the one Woods and Adler were in. He looked down the sights, settling into that familiar, old mindset that came with getting ready to end someone’s life when they weren’t even aware of it. The plane had begun to lift off, the bulky metal frame starting to ascend into the air-

-and then Mason fired.

His shot struck home, smashing into the plane’s underbelly, causing it to lose control and spiral back to the ground with a screech of metal. The death throes of the once-mighty vehicle took out several other pursuing trucks, only for a surviving one to smash hard into their own, surviving militants drawing their guns on the trio-

-only to be taken down by Woods.

As this went on, the truck, unable to compensate for the velocity and angles that it was being moved at, tipped over, and Mason fell inelegantly onto the ground, rolling with the fall so as to not injure himself too badly. He slowed to a graceless, painful stop and looked up as a terrible creaking noise filled the air, and saw the plane’s wing breaking off-

-and coming right for him.

//

There were a few surviving hired guns that had been left behind.

None of them knew what to do, in all honesty. Their fellow had dove into the trucks that remained and set off in pursuit after the interlopers who had blazed on by like they had more important things to do, and in fairness, it seemed like they _did_ have more important things to do with the one who held their leash of paychecks, and because the hired guns liked paychecks they didn’t hesitate...much, to defend their employer.

But well, you snooze you lose, and that was why a few of them were at the far end of the runway, watching helplessly as their fellows blew up, were shot, or died when the plane that was attempting to take off exploded and crashed in a spectacular display of pyrotechnics that would’ve had Michael Bay scrambling for paper to take notes on. It probably meant that everyone was dead, and therefore, the time-honored mentality of _every man for himself_ took over. There were, after all, several crates of goodies left lying around, enough to make a reasonable profit if they could get out of here without losing their heads.

Or, at least, it would have.

With a hum of metal spinning through the air, a discus-shaped object came swinging out of the darkness and slammed roughly into the skull of one man, dropping him instantly. The surviving mercs whirled about, and a second man shrieked as a figure swept out of the darkness and took him down in a flurry of swinging limbs. The person--a woman, judging by the shock of hair that flew up as she landed on her feet, caught the rebounding discus and flung it into a third man, the metal crushing his neck and knocking him to the ground, the disc of swirling metal casually rebounding with ridiculous ease off a nearby set of crates and into the fourth and fifth gunmen, downing them in moments. The sixth--and final, remaining militant drew his gun and fired blindly into the dark where he’d last seen the woman, each shot glinting harmlessly off of the disc--no, a _shield,_ before his legs were kicked out from beneath him and a knife was held at his throat, drawing a line of blood as it pricked his skin.

“Where was that plane headed?” Asked the woman, her eyes glinting with a terrifying light in the darkness of the night. 

“I...I don’t know.” Gasped the man, only to feel the knife dig deeper. “I...I swear I don’t know! I was just hired to pull security! I don’t know anything else!”

“Then you’re of no use to me.” Samantha Maxis hissed, and the knife swung home.

//

 _“Mason…”_

Groaning, Mason blinked his eyes open. “Wha...Reznov?” He breathed, the sight of his old friend filling his vision. The man was dressed like he had been the day he’d vanished on Rebirth, tired eyes on a weary frame, looking at him reassuringly as he extended a hand to help him up.

_“Wake up, Mason…”_

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it, Rez. God, give a man a moment...” Mason grumbled, working just a bit harder to push himself out of his daze. Just exactly how hard had he hit the ground? He felt like he was moving, and yet not moving, and Reznov was just staring-

“Mason!”

Blinking once more, Mason groaned and saw Adler, who held his hand in offering. Taking the proffered hand, Mason stood up on shaky feet and saw that Adler’s sunglasses were slightly cracked, but other than that the man seemed just fine. “You got lucky, the wing missed your head by about three inches. Just finished dragging you out.”

“I owe you.” Mason clipped, and Adler nodded in acknowledgement, turning towards the flaming wreckage. “Woods is getting Arash.”

“You should’ve freed the hostages when you had the chance!”

“Woods _has got_ Arash.” Adler appended, watching as Woods dragged the badly-injured man over to them, throwing him roughly to the ground. Arash’s head struck the ground hard, and the man groaned, before drawing a revolver--one that Mason kicked out of his hands, watching dispassionately as it spiraled somewhere, useless to the one who’d intended to bring it out. Arash groaned, then brought a hand up to his face, attempting to realign his broken glasses so he could see his captors properly.

“...fools...it was never about...the hostages…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Woods demanded, grabbing Arash and hauling him up slightly from the ground. Arash smiled, bleeding profusely from his mouth, and groaned as Woods threw him back onto the pavement.

“His plan is already in motion...you cannot stop him.” Arash murmured.

“Stop who?” Mason asked, and Arash simply threw his head back and laughed.

“Perseus!”

“That’s not true...that’s impossible. I killed Perseus.” Adler said, and Arash turned his spiteful gaze on him.

“You? You thought you _killed_ Perseus?” He cackled some more, and then seemed to recognize Adler. “...wait, I know you…America’s Monster...” He groaned, spitting blood. “...you disfigured Stitch, killed so many of our men, hunted Perseus like a rat throughout Vietnam...but to think him dead? The hubris of it all, no wonder we took your people hostage so easily.” Arash laughed, voice tinged with hysteria. “...Perseus _lives,_ Russell Adler, and he will watch the West burn!”

And then, before they could react, Arash drew a small needle from his glasses and plunged it into his heart.

Within seconds, Arash convulsed, gagging and choking, and then he toppled over, dead, a spiteful smile on his face. Mason and Woods took a step back from the gruesome sight, looking at each other in confusion. After a moment spent staring at the body, Adler collected himself. “We’re done here. Let’s sweep the tarmac for survivors, call in Weaver’s team, then head back to Langley.” He walked off, leaving the duo to stare at his retreating back. It was Woods who broke the silence, as he stared from Arash’s corpse, then back to the Mason.

“Who the fuck is Perseus?”

//


	3. More Than His Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen Park everybody!

//

**_January 25, 1981_ **

**_Langley, Virginia, United States Of America_ **

Jason Hudson was a patient man.

He was, after all, CIA. It came with the territory. He had waited patiently for news of Adler’s strike team to filter back, and filter back it had. Arash was dead, the man had killed himself to avoid capture and interrogation, but he’d also given them intel before he shuffled off this mortal coil. Pity. Jason knew a lot of people who would’ve loved to get their hands on Arash and show him the world...around Langley. 

_ Perseus. _

Now that wasn’t a name that Hudson had heard in a long time. Perseus was a ghost in the intelligence community, living between the lines of recorded history, making his mark, then vanishing. Over the years, the CIA had sent a number of agents after him, and in a best case scenario, they came back empty-handed, in a worst-case scenario, they came back in a casket. The CIA had hunted Perseus for almost four decades, and in those four decades, they had nothing to show for their efforts. 

Except Adler.

Adler was possibly the closest thing that Perseus had to a rival, and also the only one who could justifiably be considered an expert on the topic of Perseus. Adler had hunted Perseus for years, with a confrontation in Vietnam being the last known incident where Perseus had formally been seen in action. Adler had presumed him dead, and the evidence had supported it, but if what Arash told Adler was true...well, maybe the Romans had a point when they asked for heads on silver plates and all that.

Suddenly, he heard singing,  _ bad  _ singing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!” Sang Mason and Woods as they came around the corner, pushing a large box on wheels. “Happy birthday dear Ja-son-” Woods caterwauled, bringing the box to a stop. “-happy birthday to you!” And then he pulled out a little party-popper and popped it, sending a spray of confetti over the box. “C’mon, open it up!” Woods teased, and with a good-natured sigh, Hudson did just that…

...and found Qasim Javadi, bound and gagged with a truly ludicrous amount of duct tape.

“Ya like it?” Woods asked, a doofy smile on his face as he watched Hudson for any signs of emotion. Hudson simply stared at the wriggling, struggling Qasim, and then shut the box.

“Excellent job, you two.” He said, and then banged on the box twice, signalling a team of CIA operatives to take custody of Qasim. “Wheel him down to interrogation, I’ll handle him later.”

“Yes sir.” Said one of the men.

“Well done, soldiers. Mason, Woods, you’re dismissed.” Hudson clipped, nodding his head in silent dismissal before turning and walking towards Adler, not bothering to see if the married couple had actually moved from their spot or not. The man was talking in a low tone with Lawrence Sims, but stopped when Hudson drew close. 

“Something you want to discuss, Hudson?” He asked, prosthetic gleaming in the clinical lights of Langley, and Hudson nodded.

“In private.” Said the CIA agent, motioning for Adler to step into his office. Adler followed him in and closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure, before turning to face Hudson. “We need to talk about the  _ asset  _ you recovered in Trabzon.” 

“The subject?” Adler said, voice and face impassive as he observed the other man. “Someone of importance to Perseus, if the badge we recovered from their body is correct. Badly injured at point-blank range with three gunshot wounds, two in the chest, one in the neck. Severe blood loss and they cracked their skull when they went down. Arash was the culprit, he used a .44 Revolver on them.”

“How are they still alive?” Hudson asked.

“From what I can tell, sheer willpower. They’re recovering below in the interrogation wing.” Adler said, before adjusting his sunglasses. “We’re not sure if conventional interrogation will work, in the few periods that they’ve been lucid, all we’ve gotten out of them is their name, desperate pleas to find their mother, and scattered ramblings that are useless to us.”

“Then use MK-Ultra instead.” Hudson declared, and Adler froze in his spot.

“Are you sure? Their recovery isn’t complete. There’s time to consider other options.” He said.

“If what you’re telling me is true, then this individual is the  _ only  _ link to Perseus we have. MK-Ultra is the best shot at acquiring everything we can get from them.” Hudson responded, his voice hard and in  _ business  _ mode. “Use it, Adler. That’s an order.”

For a moment, Adler said nothing, and then he gave a single, slow nod.

“Understood.” 

//

**_More Than His Share_ **

**_Special Officer Helen A. Park - Military Intelligence Service_ **

**_London, England_ **

**_8:41 AM, January 26, 1981_ **

Helen Amara Park was having a good morning, all things considered.

She’d gotten up feeling refreshed, had a lovely shower and an equally lovely breakfast, and had just finished getting ready for the day when the phone rang. Shutting off the television and walking over to the ringing thing, she picked it up with one hand, finishing the last of her candy bar with the other.

“Hello?”

“Park, we need you in Langley.” Said Russell Adler, and Helen grunted amusedly.

“Hello to you too, Russell.” She replied. “What could you possibly want with me in Langley? Besides my company, of course.”

“I have a subject that needs your expertise.” Went the man, and Helen felt a slight chill run down her spine.  _ That  _ never meant anything good. 

“...I can be there by tonight.” She said. It was a simple matter to hang up, pack a bag and make arrangements for her house--a lovely eighteenth-century Victorian-era country home, to be watched over by a few colleagues, and off to the States she went. On the ride over, questions softly gnawed at the back of her head. What exactly was it that Adler felt was so urgent that he needed her help? 

She got her answer about twelve hours later.

She’d slept on the ride over, which was probably good, because as Helen walked alongside Adler into Langley’s interrogation wing, she  _ knew  _ she wasn’t going to be getting much sleep after this. “What, did you capture Kadviar and need some  _ James Bond  _ style techniques or something?” She asked lightheartedly, trying to break some of the tension. 

“Something like that.” Adler said, before pushing open a door and directing her inside. There, lying handcuffed to a gurney, was an individual who was clearly asleep...in an induced coma, it seemed. “The sole survivor of our excursion to Turkey.” He proclaimed. “Kadivar apparently had a family feud with them. He shot them three times with a revolver. Point blank range, neck and chest. A bit of their skull cracked when they recoiled from the blows and smacked into the glass window, and their hand was mildly burned when their own gun fell from their hands when they lost consciousness.”

“Bloody hell, and they survived all that?” Helen breathed.

“Obviously, we don’t store corpses down here, that’s what we have Weaver’s division for.” Adler mused, the pause in his words mimicking the usual pause he took when he popped a cigarette. “The personal effects we recovered are...eclectic, to say the least. But they did give us proof that this person worked for Perseus, possibly very high up, enough to warrant Arash turning on them, likely out of jealousy, according to Mason.”

“Perseus...I thought he was dead.” Helen muttered, turning to Adler with shock in her eyes. “Considering what happened the last time the two of you met, he should by all rights be dead.”

“Evidently not, despite my best efforts.” He replied, prosthetic fingers flexing involuntarily. “Kadivar said he had a plan to  _ watch the West burn,  _ and preliminary information from Qasim seems to indicate he masterminded the hostage crisis in Tehran. We’re still looking into the evidence recovered from Turkey. Thus far, we’ve recovered the flight recorder, the cargo manifest, and a number of crates containing weapons, military-grade, originating from both NATO and the Warsaw Pact. We’re still looking into it all, but it’s too early to discern anything of value right now.” He took a moment to examine the sleeping figure on the gurney, and then turned back towards Helen. “And with Arash dead, this person is the only living link we have to Perseus. I plan on making use of them.”

“Do we have any other information regarding them?” She asked, and Adler nodded, passing her a dossier. She opened it up and began to read. “What a beautiful name…” She murmured softly, taking one more look at the sleeping figure. “...and quite a service history. How’d you recover that?”

“Hudson has a friend in the KGB who matched them to the description we provided. It gives us a basis for the MK-Ultra profile I have planned for them.” Adler said.

“MK-Ultra?” Helen breathed, turning on Adler with wide eyes. “Surely if Perseus cut this one out of the loop, there’s no need, we could...we could simply wait for them to recover fully, then offer a plea deal.”

“Hudson believes it’s the only method that will lead us to Perseus. You weren’t here when we brought them in, but their mind is fractured, the trauma of the injuries and the head wound in particular doing  _ something  _ to make them a bit of a mess on the inside. MK-Ultra can give us the pathway we need to unlock the secrets they have.” Adler said, pointedly ignoring the way Helen pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, clearly hesitant about the concept.

“Breaking a subject’s will and erasing their mind is a difficult and painful process.” She said in a slow, hesitant fashion after a long silence, and Adler shrugged.

“A small price to pay, if it stops Perseus.” He replied. “We’ll start tomorrow.” And with that, he spun on his heel and walked out of the room, the threshold clanging shut, the metal echoing long after he’d gone. Helen watched him go, then turned back towards the unconscious figure on the bed. 

They seemed rather peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast against the bandages that covered the spots where they had been shot, and the hospital gown they were in, to say nothing of the handcuffs. She took a look at the confiscated personal effects, a Walkman that had been shattered when one of Arash’s bullets had gone through it, several blood-stained cassette tapes--all filled with nothing but music, no hidden messages to be deciphered, a stained and torn black hoodie-jacket with a red stripe along the right shoulder, a  _ heavily  _ customized XM4 assault rifle, and a silver ring that had clearly seen better days, the metal tarnished by age but clearly still beautiful to look at. 

Sighing, Helen pulled up a seat and sat by the sleeping figure’s side, reading through the information present in the dossier that Hudson’s friend had so helpfully provided.

_ Born in Europe, parents unknown because the subject refused to give information for some reason, served in the Spetsnaz before transferring to the KGB...perhaps one of their most talented combatants, recognized as a one-person army all to themselves...quirky?  _ She furrowed her brow slightly.  _ Noted for odd behavior and statements, has a deep interest in music, hates smoking, loves candy, drives horribly--better make a note of that one, terrible with stealth despite numerous attempts to improve upon deception talent or lack thereof, apparently cursed with bad luck? Well, that’s an apt description of their current situation.  _ She found herself smirking and huffing amusedly at that one. Finishing her observations, Helen set the dossier aside and turned back towards the unconscious figure. 

“I don’t know if you can hear me, and I don’t think you can, given the state you’re in…” She began, reaching out and taking one of their cuffed hands, pressing her thumb against their palm and rubbing a slow circle into it. “...but I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you, and for what’s going to happen to you tomorrow.” She laced her fingers with the figure, and let out a long, deep breath. “My name’s Helen, by the way. I get the feeling you and I are going to be working together for a long time.” Pausing, she smirked at the realization that she was talking to a comatose Soviet agent like they were a colleague...which they were going to be, if Adler’s plan bore fruit. “I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself, just to break the ice.” She mused, pausing as if to let the sleeping figure respond.

“Well, I was born in the English countryside…”

//

**_9:35 AM, February 8, 1981_ **

“Adler?”

Jerking awake from his uncomfortable, hospital chair, Adler turned to the figure who’d woken him up with a single, hoarse gasp of his name. “Hey, kid.” He said, putting on a smile, reaching over to grip their hand with his prosthetic one, letting the cool metal act as a grounding point for the individual in bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a truck.” Said the one on the bed, groaning softly and reaching up with their free hand to trace a bandage on their head. “...what happened?”

“You took a bad hit in Turkey.” Adler said. “Three bullets and a bit of shrapnel got you, then you hit your head pretty hard when you went down, cracked a bit of your skull there.” He gave their hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be just fine. The treatments worked, so with any luck, you and I will be back in the field in no time.”

“I’m gonna be okay?” They asked, and for a moment, Adler paused, his mind thinking back to the last couple weeks of frantic work, work that the figure on the bed was blissfully unaware of, as it should’ve been. He blinked once, and the figure on the bed was back in the truck he’d pulled them out of.

_ “Over here, we’ve got a live one!” Adler had shouted, pulling open the car door and assessing the injuries. It was bad, really, really bad. How they were alive was beyond him. He saw a dossier lying on the figure’s lap, and instinctively he reached down to pick it up. Intel, always handy, possibly very useful. His hand, however, had never made it, as a blood-stained one gripped his arm, and the figure, with glassy, pleading eyes that seemed to spark with a strange blue-white energy, had looked at him and choked out through bloodstained lips- _

_ “-help-” _

“Yes, yes, you’re gonna be okay.” Adler finally said, pushing himself back into the present and giving the figure a smile.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine, Bell.”

//


	4. Behold A Pale Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RONALD REAGAN? THE ACTOR?

//

**_Behold A Pale Horse_ **

**_“Bell” - CIA Special Activities Division, Ex-KGB_ **

**_Washington D.C. - The United States Of America_ **

**_10:07 AM, February 12, 1981_ **

“Bell, we’re going to be late!”

Looking up from where you’d been hastily throwing on a shirt, you felt your mouth open and shut, like a guppy fish, before you sputtered out a response to the one and only, Helen Amara Park. “Coming, Helen!” You shouted, yanking it on, grabbing your jacket and throwing that on too. You took a moment to check yourself in the mirror, your favored black-and-red hoodie, a pair of camo pants, and a new Walkman and tapes to accompany it, replacing the old set that had been broken when you’d been hit in Trabzon.  _ Hopefully I don’t break this one too.  _ You thought, putting the headphones around your neck, so if you wanted to listen to some tunes on the ride to the White House, well, you’d have the opportunity to do so.

“Bell?”

“Fuck.” You muttered, throwing open the door and stumbling out of the room you’d been given in the townhouse that you’d been bunkered up in for the last few days, after your discharge from the hospital. Today was a very important day, you reminded yourself, as you walked down the stairs hurriedly, practically jumped into your shoes and ran to the front door. “Oh thank God, you didn’t leave without me.”

“I would never leave without you.” Said Helen Park, flashing you a smile as she opened the door and gestured with a flourish for you to step outside. “Adler would kill me.” 

“He is that kind of guy.” You said, following Helen to her car. The MI6 operative had personally taken it upon herself to watch over you as you recovered from the incident in Trabzon, and you had to say, you actually kind of liked it. Mostly because Helen was much better beside company than Adler was, try as the man might to make you feel better. “So, off to the White House it seems? Or was I imagining things when I read that memo?”

“We’re going to visit the White House, Bell. I hope you ironed your pants.” Helen quipped, starting the car and pulling out after the two of you had put on your seatbelts. “Word going ‘round is that your op in Trabzon uncovered something far worse, so it’s all hands on deck for this one.”

“That sounds...ominous.” You said. “What are we looking at?”

“In-short, one of the skeletons in Adler’s closet didn’t stay in the closet.” Helen said, seamlessly weaving the car throughout the busy streets. “That’s about as much as I can tell you right now.”

“Why, because the Reds might be listening?” You teased, and Helen shook her head.

“Actually it’s because I’m in the dark as much as you are.” She said. “Adler plays his cards close to his chest, and Hudson doesn’t trust me.”

“...that makes two of us.” You muttered, frowning slightly at the mention of the bald man. For some reason, Hudson didn’t like you, at all. You’d seen him exactly twice while you were laid up in the hospital, and both times, he’d looked at you like you were a rather fascinating bug he was about to crunch under his boot. 

Maybe the man was jealous of you and your good looks.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Helen said. “Hudson’s the kind of man who sorts people out into two categories, people he trusts absolutely, and people who he’ll never trust. We happen to fall into the latter category, and it’d probably be best if we didn’t try killing ourselves to get into his good graces.”

“Probably has something to do with me being ex-KGB.” You mused.

“If that was the case, Weaver and Hudson wouldn’t be friends.” Helen said. “On the other hand, Weaver  _ did  _ literally lose an eye helping Hudson and Mason stop Dragovich…”

“You know what, if that’s the price to be Hudson’s buddy, I think I’m content being in the  _ “he doesn’t like us”  _ club with you.” You said rapidly. “Mason and Woods are more fun, or so I’ve heard.”

“Trabzon was your first time working with them, right?” And you nodded.

“In a formal sense, yes, I know they were there with us in Hué City, but they had their job and my team had mine.” You said. “I’m looking forward to properly getting to know them! They’re legends in the intelligence community.”

“Good kind, or bad kind?” Helen asked, and you shrugged, shuddering slightly as the car went over a dip in the road, one that almost reminded you of a roller coaster, oddly enough. 

“I dunno, I’ve heard a lot of stories about them, but Adler trusts them, so…” You waved a hand, and Helen made an affirmative noise.

“Well, you’ll get your chance.” Helen said, pulling up to a security station, flashing her ID, and then moving the car forward and to a designated parking spot, all in the space of about two minutes. “They’re gonna be in the briefing with us.”

“Really?” You asked, excitement leaking into your voice as you and Helen piled out of the car and began walking towards the giant, imposing building that was the White House. “I hope I can get an autograph.” 

Helen laughed softly, patting you on the back. 

“Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

//

A jar of jellybeans sat innocuously at the head of the table.

It was a very large table, mind you, with plenty of spaces, and as you settled into a space next to Helen, you took in the faces around you. Somewhere towards the front, you saw Adler, and Mason and Woods--the duo who had taken down Dragovich! You resisted the urge to squeal in excitement, and instead opted to focus on Helen and her calm, soothing presence. Yes, it was probably best to be like her, calm and collected. 

There were some other people in the room too, a Russian man--Grigori Weaver, and a number of men and women who could only be the operatives of Weaver’s personal unit, Fireteam Requiem, and Hudson, because  _ of course  _ where you went, Hudson went. Or something like that.  _ If this keeps up, maybe I should look into getting a restraining order.  _ You mused, smirking slightly in the room as you waited for the star of the show to arrive. A part of you wondered if it was possible for the President of the United States to run late to his own briefing, but given that you’d been sort of lagging behind, well-

-the doors opened-

-it would probably be fine. Pushing yourself to your feet, you--and everyone else in the room, stood at attention as President Ronald Wilson Reagan himself walked into the room, a pair of guards walking inside the room as well, standing at his side as the doors were shut. “At ease, ladies and gentlemen.” Said the President, making a point to look everyone in the eye. He took his seat at the head of the table, and then turned to Mason, who was sitting just nearby. 

“Would you like a jelly bean, son?”

“Um...yes sir, Mister President.” Mason stammered, accepting the invitation to help himself to a handful of Jelly Beans. Reagan motioned for the jar to be passed down the line of people, and as the jar went down the table and back towards Reagan, you couldn’t help but notice how the man keenly watched who took a handful of the colorful beans, and who picked out specific colors. You opted to simply take a handful, and as you set yours down on a napkin that had been so graciously provided, you took a moment to notice that Helen had picked out all-blue jelly beans. 

Clearing his throat as the jar returned to him, Reagan poured some jelly beans out for himself and leaned back in his seat. “Are we ready to get started, Mister Hudson?”

“Yes sir, we can.” Said Hudson, giving the president his very best  _ professional ass-kisser  _ look. “Adler, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, Hudson.” Went Adler, as he stood up, taking out a remote and flicking on a projector at the other end of the room. “Mister President, several weeks ago in Trabzon, I learned from the late Arash Kadivar that the Soviet agent known as Perseus is alive, and planning an attack upon the Free World.” A picture of a man appeared upon the projector, and you frowned as you stared at it.

_ Comrades... _

“Perseus?” Asked a man somewhere at the head of the table--Alexander Haig, you remembered, almost snapping your fingers in accord with your remembrance before you decided that would be a dumb idea, instead choosing to divert your nervous energy by way of popping a jelly bean into your mouth. “The Russian Bogeyman?”

“A very real bogeyman.” Adler said, voice taking on the tone of a teacher correcting a student. “I thought him dead in Vietnam, but it seems that despite my efforts, he has, in fact, survived.” 

“And exactly how much of a threat is this Perseus?” Said Haig.

“Every time Perseus has come into play, he’s changed the balance of the Cold War.” Adler refuted, flicking the projector to display a nuclear explosion. “In 1943, Perseus infiltrated the Manhattan Project and stole information related to nuclear science. The Soviets developed their own nuclear weapons sometime after the Second World War.” The projector image switched once again. “In 1968, during the height of the conflict in Vietnam, he attempted to steal one of our own nuclear weapons when we brought it as a contingency plan.” Folding his hands together, Adler gestured at the image of Perseus, who had once more appeared on the screen.

_...the United States and her allies… _

“Perseus lives between the lines of recorded history.” Adler said. “A number of operatives have attempted to track him down and eliminate him, and all have failed, many losing their lives in the process.” He looked Reagan in the eye, and for a moment, you saw steel flash in those irises of Adler’s, hidden behind the glasses he wore. “Of them all, only my team has had any success in hunting Perseus. That’s why when his name was brought up by Arash Kadivar, I knew it was something that needed to be brought to your attention immediately.”

“Can you stop Perseus?” Reagan asked, and you suppressed a smile. Of course you could, you just needed...whatever it was that Adler was about to do.

“We can, sir.” Adler said. “I’ve brought everyone I trust for this mission to this meeting today. With your permission, I’ll do the introductions for my squad, Fireteam Normandy.” At a nod from Reagan, Adler began to gesture at the people around the table. “First of all, I’d like to introduce Lawrence Sims, my second-in-command, you won’t find a finer XO.” The man in question gave the president a respectful nod, as Adler moved on. “Eleazar “Lazar” Azoulay of the Mossad, he was responsible for bringing you the names of Arash and Qasim in the first place.” It swept once more. “Alex Mason and Frank Woods, you remember them I’m sure.”

“That I do, son. That I do.” Reagan said, turning to Mason. “By all accounts, Kennedy spoke highly of you, son. Know that I hold the same high hopes for you that he did.”

“Thank you, Mister President.” Mason said, nodding his head in respectful deference. Reagan motioned for Adler to continue, which he did, moving his hand to point at Helen.

“Helen Park of MI6. We’ve worked together on a number of operations and I thought it wise to enlist her help for this mission, she’s one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever met.” He said, and then his hand gestured to you, and you froze as Adler said your name. “-a former Spetsnaz and KGB operative, they defected from the organization and have worked with us ever since 1966. Despite their background as a Soviet military operative, I assure you they can be trusted. They received American citizenship three years ago and exemplify the very best of this great nation.” At his words, Reagan’s eyes fell upon you, studying you intently. You felt like squirming, and then Helen’s hand came to rest atop yours, her thumb rubbing a soothing circle into your palm.

“You’re living proof that maybe all the Soviets aren’t the bogeymen  _ some people  _ in this room believe they are.” Said Reagan, after a long pause, and he gave you a nod. “I’m sure you’ll do us proud, child.” Looking to Weaver, he raised an eyebrow. “And the rest?”

“I’d like to introduce my own team, if that’s alright with you, Mister President.” Said Weaver.

“Go ahead, son.” Went the President.

“Excellent, good. Um…” Weaver held out a hand. “These are the men and women of Fireteam Requiem, from left to right, I’d like to introduce to you Zeyna Ossou, John Baker, Jason Hunter, Kwan Song and Wyatt “Bulldozer” Jones. We’re not formally part of Adler’s team, but he requested us for the mission nonetheless.”

“If you can stop Perseus, you can bring on whoever you need.” Reagan said.

“But sir, the requests put forth by Adler are rather irregular-” Haig said, causing you to stare at him with the kind of look reserved for the student in the back of the classroom who asked one too many questions. “-possibly even illegal. If the press gets ahold-”

“Al, if Perseus gets ahold of whatever he’s got in mind for the Free World, rest assured we will have much more to worry about than the press.” Reagan said. “By the power vested in me by the people of the United States, I, Ronald Reagan, hereby authorize all of you here to use any resources you deem necessary to stop Perseus. Whatever you want, you will get, if it is something the United States trades in or manufactures, it will be granted, if it is not something we trade in or manufacture, superhuman efforts will be made to acquire it.”

“Yes sir.” All of you chimed at once, and Reagan leaned forward in his seat, folded his hands and continued to speak.

“I will not lie, you have been given an important task...protecting our very way of life from a great evil. Being chosen to take up this mantle...there is no greater duty, there is no higher honor, but it is also a great burden. Should you fail, Perseus will no doubt visit ruination upon our great country, and no doubt alter the balance of the world for the worse. But you are the best of the best, and you have been called upon to serve the men and women of the Free World. While few among them will know of your identities, let alone your struggles, rest assured that if you succeed, the entire Free World will benefit from your actions.” Reagan paused, and let his words sink in with the weight of a thunderclap. “I know you won’t fail us, I have the utmost confidence in your abilities.”

_ No pressure.  _ You thought to yourself.

//

“Well, this is certainly gonna be quite the op.”

“You’re telling me.” Helen said, a couple of bags slung over her shoulders, the others in her hands, as you and her walked to the private CIA plane that would take you to Europe. No sooner had you guys left the meeting than did Adler tell you to go home and pack your things and get ready to hit the road. And so, here you two were, a few hours later, ready to go to Europe. 

“So, what exactly is the plan again?” You asked.

“Fly to Germany, land in Germany, go to the safehouse, start Anti-Perseus operations.” Helen said. “It gets a lot more complicated after that.”

“I can imagine.” You mused, setting your bags away and taking a seat in the plane, unfolding a blanket and getting comfy. Helen sat down next to you, and you held out a portion of the blanket in offering. She took it with a grateful smile and got bundled up under it. 

“We should probably get some rest, it’s gonna be a long trip.” She said. 

“That’s probably wise.” You hummed, and then Helen produced a pillow from her bag and held it out. 

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely.” You said, helping her angle the pillow so it would work for the both of you. Now reasonably comfy, you relaxed into the seat, watching out the window as the plane took off. You felt unusually apprehensive about the operation, and as you furrowed your brow and pursed your lips, you felt Helen’s hand reach out and take your own. 

“Get some rest, Bell. We’ve got quite the journey ahead of us.” She said, the warmth of her palm rather soothing against your hand. Sighing, you shut your eyes and tried to do just that, unable to shake the strange feeling of unease in the back of your head.

_...Comrades...the United States and her allies slowly consume that which is dear to us...  
_

//


	5. Uncle Russell & The Troubletones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which CIA Safehouse E9 gets the fleshing out it deserved or whatever.

//

**_Uncle Russell & The Troubletones_ **

**_“Bell” - CIA Special Activities Division, Ex-KGB_ **

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_8:27 PM, February 12, 1981_ **

“Bell, wake up.”

Jerking awake, you blinked twice, and shook yourself slightly to rid yourself of the disorientation. “What time zone is this?” You asked.

“A very different one.” Helen said, as a soft thumping noise let you so kindly know that you had landed. “Welcome to West Berlin.” Nodding, you pulled yourself out of your seat and grabbed your bags, helping Helen out with her own, and you gingerly made your way off the plane. Clearly, you’d been out of it, and pretty badly at that. Maybe being shot in Trabzon was still haunting you, or something of similar note.

“So this is our forever home.” You said, staring at the large building that basically looked like a parking garage without the accompanying Disneyland, it was kinda sad, actually, you were hoping for something much more exotic. Reality was often disappointing, it seemed. “As far as forever homes go, I’ve seen better.”

“Relax, Bell, it’s a lot comfier than it looks.” Helen said, somehow juggling a backpack, two carry-ons, and your thankfully disarmed XM4 and what looked to be an extremely customized MP5 slung over her frame. “They’ve even got indoor plumbing this time!”

_“...what?”_

“I’m just taking the piss with you, this place has always had indoor plumbing. Not necessarily functional, but it’s there.” Helen teased, flashing you a smile. “Though the outhouse is still there if you want a taste of home.”

“Okay, for one, the Soviet Union doesn’t suck _that much,_ and I grew up…” A flash of purple eyes appeared before you, and you frowned. “...in a really loving home. With indoor plumbing. _Functional_ indoor plumbing. That didn’t break down. Because my mom was...my mom was...awesome. Really awesome. At making sure indoor plumbing was functional.”

“What an intellectually stimulating conversation, truly it was.” Said Adler, walking by you, dragging along two rolling backpacks, and with gear that could’ve only been found during your time with him in Vietnam hanging off of him like a deranged Christmas tree, before walking over to the large garage door and kicking it twice. “Hey, Woods, open up!”

“What’s the password?”

“I’m in charge of this operation, I don’t need a password!” Adler called out. You and Helen looked at each other.

“That’s not the password.” Woods yelled back through the intercom.

“Open this fucking door, Woods.” Adler sniped, deadpan.

“Still not the password.” Woods said, suppressed laughter in the background. “Here I’ll give you a hint, what starts with F and ends with uck-”

“Open this motherfucking door or so help me God-”

“Are you even _trying,_ man? Come on, I gave you a hint, you could at least pretend to know what the password might be-” Woods went, before what sounded a lot like electricity crackled over the comm, followed shortly by the door opening. You raised an eyebrow, and followed Adler inside, Helen at your back.

“Sorry about that, Adler.” Hudson said, while Woods lay on the ground, twitching incessantly. “He finally gave me an excuse to try out this prototype electric shock weapon the Agency has in the works.”

“Oh, so that’s what that is.” Adler said. “Mind sending me a copy?”

“Yeah, sure, absolutely.” Hudson said, before casting a frosty look in your direction. “Where are the others?”

“Getting their gear, or recovering from whatever that is you have in your hands.” Helen said, gesturing at Woods, who was definitely not gonna be getting up from his spot anytime soon. “We can start as soon as we’ve settled down.”

‘Good, see to it.” Hudson clipped, turning and walking away from you like you were on fire. You turned towards Helen and raised an eyebrow. 

“...like I said, don’t worry about him.” She said a wave of her hand. “Now come on, let’s get our stuff put down somewhere.”

“So that’s what the sleeping bags and bedding are for.” You muttered, and Helen nodded. 

“Out here’s gonna be like camping Bell, except we have a roof over our heads, which is good, because I don’t fancy being attacked by bears. Or rained on. The worst you’ll have to worry about is Lazar’s snoring.” She said.

“And Hudson.” You observed, noticing a corner of the safehouse that had an arcade console in the darkest most back corner. “How about that spot?”

Helen stared at it, scrutinizing it for a long moment, and then she nodded. “Looks quiet and cozy, Bell. Good pick.” She smiled at you and inclined her head towards it, and you dutifully followed her to the section of the safehouse in question, where you set your bags down on the table that had been lying there...for quite a while if the dust was any indication. You took off your jacket and swept the desk, causing a cloud of particles to fly upwards and into the air.

Helen sneezed.

The noise was kind of cute, actually. “Bless you.” You said, coughing a few times as you flapped the jacket about, getting most of the dust out of the way. “Shall we get our beds set up?”

“Beds? Why not just _a_ bed? It gets really cold out here, best to huddle up, share resources, that sort of thing.” Helen said, inclining her head at the large pallet that was lying nearby. “If we put a sheet or two for insulation and comfort, we could throw our sleeping bags on top of it, open those up for extra warmth and comfort, and then share blankets.”

“It’s a sound plan, makes the most of our space, and it doesn’t seem like we’ll have room to...well, have separate spots anyways.” You looked about. “I mean, unless you wanted to move somewhere else-”

“No no no, I like this spot. Dark and quiet, and if we arrange some of the other pallets lying about we can give ourselves a nice little improvised wall for privacy.” Helen said. “And we’ve got some windows above for fresh air. This may very well be the best spot in the whole damn building.”

“Well, I’m convinced.” You said. Helen smirked, grabbed a sheet out of her bag, and threw it at you.

“Let’s get to work, Bell.”

//

“Dibs on the swirly chair!”

“Fuck! I wanted the swirly chair!” Mason shouted. “I never get the swirly chair!”

“Then you shoulda called dibs, Snorlax.” Woods crowed, spinning around in the swirly chair. Spinny chair. _Whatever._ He was sitting in it and spinning in it, and you were staring at this with the kind of stare that suggested that you would’ve rather have been trying out your new sleeping arrangements. It _had_ looked rather comfy, all things considered.

“You _never_ give me the swirly chair! You always take the swirly chair!” Mason yelled back, and somewhere out of the corner of your eye, you saw Weaver put his face in his hands. _“You don’t love me, Frank!”_

“...can we please just start the meeting?” Hudson asked.

“No.” Chorused Mason and Woods, and Weaver began shaking with what sounded like barely suppressed laughter. Lazar looked distinctly uncomfortable as he watched Mason and Woods escalate their mock-lovers spat over the swirly chair, which ended about ten seconds later when Mason opted to just sit in Woods’ lap.

“Wait, where the fuck’s Adler?” Baker asked, looking around.

“Right behind you.”

“Oh, hey bud.” Baker immediately said, sounding nonchalant. “What were you doing?”

“Grabbing this.” Adler said, stepping into the light and tossing a dossier down onto the table. It was blue, with a bloody handprint on it, and there were several documents haphazardly held inside of it. You looked at it, noticed the Cyrillic writing on it, and-

_When the plane leaves, it stops in Duga, this you know…_

-felt a strange ache between your eyes. You heard Adler and the others speaking, something about a surge in Russian communications, and you stumbled back slightly, trying to keep your balance.

_...here’s what you don’t know, Perseus…_

“Bell? You with us?” Came Adler’s voice, piercing the fog that had clouded your mind, and you looked up. His prosthetic arm glistening in the eerie light, he looked at you with concern, or what passed for concern in Adlerland. “Come on Bell, we’ve got a job to do.”

_...from there, we fly…_

“I’m okay. Sorry.” You said, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’ve woken up yet.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Weaver asked, tilting his head at you. “You looked like you were about to pass out.” 

“I’m good.” You reiterated. “So, Russian comm chatter surge?”

“Yes.” Kwan Song said, gesturing at a nearby Soviet-made radio that was lying on the table. “This was recovered from the airplane in Trabzon, and Bulldozer here spent quite a bit of time getting it functional. Our team has been monitoring Russian chatter with it. Nothing too solid, but there’s been calls for resource diversions to _somewhere,_ and to _someone._ It’s possible it could be Perseus coordinating these efforts.”

“He is very high up in the command chain, from what we can tell.” Adler said, producing a photo and sticking it up on the nearby _evidence board,_ as the sloppily written note duct taped to the top indicated. “And someone like him would definitely have a lot of pull with the Soviets.”

“Which is where you come in, Bell.” Hudson said. “You’re gonna give us the Russian perspective on our op.”

“Actually, it’s more like the KGB perspective.” Adler said, gesturing at you with his prosthetic arm, black-and-gold fingers twitching slightly, whirring mechanically. “If we wanted the Russian perspective, we have Weaver. But you...you’re KGB, just like Perseus. You and him went to the same school, so to speak. That gives us an edge, because you can think like him.”

“What, you want me to start dressing up like him?” You asked.

“That won’t be necessary.” Adler said. “Especially since the only concrete photo we have of him is twenty years old. There are a few other snapshots, but they’re terrible, like taking photos of a Yeti or something. I’ll put them up on the board, but what’s important is _this.”_ He gestured at the dossier. “Recovered this in Vietnam over twelve years ago. No one’s been able to crack it ever since.”

“No one? Really? Come on, we found the Rusalka in a shorter timespan, and all you had to do was get me high on every drug under the sun-” Mason went, only for Woods to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Which is why we’re going to be reviewing that mission.” Helen said, drawing all attention to her as she picked up the dossier. “Bell, Sims and Adler were on the operation that led to the acquisition of this dossier, and they’ve kindly agreed to tell us about their time in Vietnam, which may very well give us what we need to crack this dossier.”

“How does that work?” Lazar asked, furrowing his brow.

“It’s a lot of psychological mumbo-jumbo, but the long and short is that if you go over the experience, you may remember something you missed, your brain put it into storage, so to speak, and this is our way of breaking it out and seeing what’s inside.” Helen said, clasping her hands together.

“...when do we start?” Sims asked. 

“That depends entirely on you three.” Helen said, looking at you.

“We’ll do it tomorrow in the morning, when we’re all fresh and rested.” Adler said. “Until then, you’re free to get yourselves situated, fight over who gets the top bunk, cook something, whatever. As long as this safehouse is still standing in the morning.”

“Copy that.” Everyone said, and at a wave of Adler’s hand, the team was dismissed. You walked over to Adler.

“Something on your mind, Bell?” He asked, looking at you.

“...that dossier, it seems familiar.” You said.

“Well, it’s been over a decade, but you do remember grabbing it back in ‘Nam, right?” Adler asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Y-yeah, but it’s just...I kinda feel like I’ve seen it more recently.” You pressed. “Like, like, I was holding it or something before...before you threw it there on the table.”

“Bell, it’s been a long day of traveling and packing and unpacking, I think your problem isn’t still being asleep, I think it’s _not_ being asleep long enough.” Adler said, frowning at you. “No offense, but you sound like Mason when he’s talking to Reznov.” 

“None taken, Russ.” You said, shaking your head slightly. “Ugh, what’s going on with me?”

“Jet lag, probably.” Adler said. “Hits people differently.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” You said, sighing softly. “If anyone asks, I’ll be in the corner Helen and I staked out together. Probably do some light reading or listening to music or something before I try dropping off.”

“Sounds good, Bell.” Adler clipped, patting you on the back. “Don’t stress too much, this is just the first day of Operation Take Down Perseus, after all.”

“Maybe we should come up with a better name than that?” You said, smirking slightly at the moment of levity that Adler had brought about.

“Probably.” He said, before gently ushering you away. “Now go, get some rest Bell.” Nodding, you walked off, meandering past where Helen and Lazar were, in Lazar’s corner, it seemed, just chatting about something-

“Your medical supplies will be in the backroom-”

 _Medical supplies?_ You thought, casting a look at the conversing duo. Helen seemed a bit skittish, and as you walked behind the gate and began walking towards your spot of the safehouse, passing Woods and Mason, who were busy clearing out a supply rack for unknown purposes, you couldn’t help but catch a bit more.

“-we’ve got enough for a few months-”

“-will that be enough? This could take a long time-”

“-we’ll just order more if that’s the case-”

“Ah, it’s probably nothing.” You said to yourself, undressing into something much simpler for bed, tossing yourself into the makeshift bed that you and Helen would be sharing...platonically, of course, you were keeping it professional, as professional as someone who, by her own admission, had “seen you naked and bleeding like an impaled fatman at a circus”, could possibly keep it, which probably wasn’t much, when you thought about it.

She was cute, after all.

“Oh, stop it you. She probably has someone waiting for her at home.” You muttered to yourself. “Helen’s just a friend. A good friend. Bit touchy-feely, but good.” Flopping onto your pillow, you snagged up your headphones and Walkman, adjusted the volume on it so as to ensure that anything short of a firefight wouldn’t be heard, and picked up a tape to put in. Curiously, the one you picked up looked rather strange, with...what looked like a bleeding heart, or a grenade, perhaps, in the art. Shrugging, you popped it in, and turned on your Walkman, shutting your eyes and losing yourself in the loud, intense music.

_“Don’t wanna be an American Idiot-”_

//

“Park, my office, now.”

“Oh, so it’s _your_ office now.” Sims heckled, from where he was setting up residence at a desk that he seemed to have claimed for his own. Thankfully, Woods and Mason had shut up, having converted a supply rack into some kind of laundry storage space, and they’d mutually agreed that Bulldozer could have the “bottom bunk” of a large set of cargo storage ramps that were evidently to be their sleeping space. Hudson was somewhere else, and Lazar and Kwan had settled down to eat a meal together--because Kwan could cook worth a damn and might very well have been the _only_ one able to cook worth a damn in this madhouse.

“I’m in charge ‘round here, I get an office.” Adler said, waving off Weaver’s faux-offended exclamation. 

“It’s a joint operation, you dick-” Weaver went, but his voice was drowned out as Helen stepped into the office and Adler shut the door, locking it for good measure. He inclined his head at the blinds, and Helen yanked them, ensuring that the duo had total privacy. The room _had_ been specifically soundproofed, after all. You never knew what was going to happen, after all.

“We need to talk about Bell.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Helen asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Your _brainwashing_ worked perfectly, as you can see by your oblivious wind-up toy dutifully following your _suggestion_ to have a juice box and a lie down.”

“Don’t give me that self-righteous posturing, Helen. You had a hand in helping the _wind-up toy_ become the _wind-up toy.”_ Adler huffed. “Speaking of, what’s your angle, cozying up to Bell? You know they’re just an asset to find Perseus.” He inclined his head out the window. “If you’re looking for companionship, there are a lot of bachelors just outside.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on Bell, and it sure isn’t going to be _you.”_ Helen sniped back. “You did a good job making Bell believe that you two go way back, and that you’re capable of working smoothly in the field, but you didn’t really do so good with the off-the-field part of the brainwashing. Of course Bell was going to gravitate towards someone more personable.”

“Is that what we’re calling practically mother-hening them?” Adler asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. Helen wrinkled her nose at the smell and rolled her eyes. “This may be the longest separation you’ve had from Bell since they woke up in the hospital.”

“Like I said, someone has to make sure Bell doesn’t start remembering things they shouldn’t.” Helen said. “Fortunately for us, Lazar got the supplies necessary to ensure that.”

“And we may have to start distributing it a bit more...frequently.” Adler said, gesturing at some of the items on the shelves around them. “Bell’s little outburst during the meeting was likely tied to seeing the dossier I pulled off of their body. We’ll have to make sure they don’t remember the full details, not until we’re ready to strike Perseus directly.”

“And who knows when that’ll be.” Helen mused.

“Exactly.” Adler said. “Seeing as you’re so attached to Bell, you’re now in charge of making sure the drugs get in their system. Rig their food, drinks, toothpaste, whatever, stick them while they’re unconscious or make it part of their vitamins, just get it done.” He raised his prosthetic arm at her, a finger pointing at her in a manner that would’ve intimidated the Helen of yesteryears, but not the one of today. “And _keep it professional._ Use that rapport you’ve got with Bell for all it’s worth, but remember, Bell is an _asset,_ not an ally.”

“...do you even hear yourself? Talking about them like they’re a mindless weapon to be pointed at things you don’t like?” Helen hissed, stalking over to Adler and getting up in his face.

“If I didn’t see the use we could get out of Bell, I’d have left them to die at the airport.” Adler said, before turning to leave the room. “For what it’s worth-” He said. “-it’s nothing personal, the kid has heart, and I see them doing great things. The trick is getting them to include taking out Perseus as one of them, and that’s a long way off, if we’re lucky enough to get that far.” And with that, Adler stepped out of the room.

Helen growled and smacked her hand against the window.

“Goddammit.” She muttered to herself, taking a minute to compose herself, before stepping out of the office. 

“Have a good chat?” Zeyna asked, from where she was helping Baker and Hunter set up an impromptu gym. From the way the duo were talking animatedly among themselves, it seemed that the duo had found something in common, even if that something was asskicking, which just about everyone in the safehouse had in common.

“Something like that.” Helen said, inclining her head in polite dismissal before walking off. She passed Lazar and Kwan, who were chatting about growing up in their respective communities, and went on by Adler, who she steadfastly ignored when he looked up from where he was reviewing some documents, on Perseus, no doubt.

“Bell?” Helen called out, walking quietly towards the back of the safehouse. There was no answer, and in any other case, she would’ve taken it as a bad sign, but they were safe here, so things were probably fine. She stepped into the little corner that was now more or less _their_ spot, and saw Bell, asleep, snuggled under the sheets, Walkman still playing ever on. Huffing amusedly at the sight, Helen grabbed some spare clothes out of her bag and slipped into something comfier, before returning to the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she gently removed the headphones and Walkman from Bell and slipped them on, hearing a soft, melodic piano playing. Perhaps a bit of music would help her relax, she thought, as she snuggled under the sheets, taking some measure of comfort in the warmth of Bell's frame.

_“When I was, a young boy, my father, took me into the city, to see a marching band…”_

//

Someone was singing.

_“...he said son when, you grow up…”_

The man, his name is not important, for he is not long for this world, wasn’t exactly sure who it was. It was a woman, he could tell that much, and whoever she was, she had a reasonably nice singing voice, though he couldn’t quite figure out _why_ it was a woman, because last he checked, the people here were all guys. Perhaps it was the radio, yes, that had to be it.

_“...would you be, the savior of the broken…”_

So caught up was he in his thoughts, that he didn’t notice the figure who snuck up behind him, though he did notice that the singing had suddenly increased in volume, which was about all the warning he got before a glowing purple hand suddenly tore through him, ripping out his heart and killing him on the spot. As he fell to the floor, the light in his eyes going out, he heard that haunting singing continue on.

_“...the beaten, and the damned?”_

Continuing to sing a song that wouldn’t be written for another couple of decades, Samantha Maxis continued on her merry way, the fresh kill behind her simply the latest in a long line of dead people she’d encountered on her way to the man who so blissfully was unaware of her presence. Why he had this many guards was anyone’s guess, but Samantha was _Samantha,_ cursed by the Apothicons themselves. He may as well have had just one guard, for all it mattered to her. Thankfully, the one currently bleeding all over the floor was the last one in the building, and the only other person she could sense was her target.

Kicking open the office door of the man in question, she saw him jerk up and fumble in shock, and in the moment that followed, she threw her shield, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor, stalking forward, Samantha plucked her whirling discus out of the air and snapped it onto her back, then, with a wave of her hand, hoisted the man up into the air in a swirl of violet dynamism and slammed him against the wall. “Hello there, sorry to barge in on you without an appointment, I know you’re very busy-” She said, smiling a sweet smile that was entirely at odds with the blood strewn across her frame.

“-but would you be so kind as to tell me where Robert Aldrich is?”

//


	6. F Is For Friends & Fractured Jaws...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Family Guy goes to Vietnam.

//

**_F Is For Friends & Fractured Jaws…_ **

**_Special Officer Helen Amara Park - Military Intelligence Service_ **

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_6:16 AM, February 13, 1981_ **

As the sun rose up over West Berlin, all was quiet and peaceful in the safehouse.

Not a thing was stirring, not even Hudson, who usually got up first out of everyone because he’s a fairy and thus needs no sleep. From Bell to Park to Lazar to Song to Hunter to Baker to Zeyna to Bulldozer to Alex to Woods to Adler and Sims and Weaver, all was peacefully blissfully quiet in the safehouse. Which was, of course, when _something_ shaped like Alex Mason’s clock-radio had to intervene.

_“Some-”_

For a moment, there was the slight suspense in the air that you get when you know something is about to happen, you just can’t tell _what._ And then-

_“-BODY ONCE TOLD ME-”_

-there was chaos as literally everyone in the building got up all at once as an overly loud song that probably wasn’t supposed to be in existence yet woke them up. Well, actually, that was an overstatement, Bulldozer slept through the whole thing, and while Helen jerked up from her shared bed with Bell, the ex-KGB operative was much slower to rouse.

_“-THE WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME-”_

“Oh…that’s not a pleasant way to get up.” Helen mumbled to herself, hearing the music drone on, followed by what sounded like Baker grumbling to himself in a fashion loud enough to express the annoyance of just about everyone. “What time is it-”

_“-I AIN’T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE SHED-”_

“-oh, sod off!” Helen called out, ducking back under her blankets. It was too early to be doing much of anything, all she wanted to do was lie down under the warm covers and go back to sleep.

_“-SHE WAS LOOKIN’ KIND OF DUMB-”_

“Park? Park? Come on, we’ve got a job to do.” Adler said, his voice joining the radio in piercing the warm comforting heat of blanketland, and with a grumble, Helen shot up from her bed...and promptly got a faceful of Adler in nothing but a pair of boxers, his prosthetic arm gleaming in the sunlight that poked in through the windows. “Oh good, you’re up.” Said the man, oblivious to the look on her face. “Get Bell up, would ya? We’d like to get the whole Vietnam retelling thing done and over with as soon as possible, if you get my drift.”

_“-WITH HER FINGER AND HER THUMB-”_

“Fine...” Helen said, ignoring the sight of Adler striding away, opting to focus on Bell, a much more pleasant sight to look at. “Come on, Bell, it’s time to get up.”

_“-IN THE SHAPE OF AN L ON HER FOREHEAD-”_

“Already? It’s only...six...no need to get up for another five hours…” Bell mumbled, yawning cutely, and Helen tapped their nose playfully, in tandem with the clock radio being violently yanked out of it’s socket, cutting off the anachronistic music.

“I know, but Adler wants to review the Vietnam missions ASAP. I get the feeling he just doesn’t want to have that hanging over his head any longer than necessary.” She said, stretching. “Come on now, Bell, let’s go.”

“Alright…” Mumbled the ex-KGB operative, sitting up and stretching. Taking a moment to make sure they weren’t going to fall back asleep, Helen got up, snagged up a towel and some fresh clothes, and walked off to go shower and start her day. 

“Did you sleep well?” Lazar asked, as Helen set her items down on one of the sinks and made to brush her teeth.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Helen said. “Bell’s a nice bedmate, didn’t hog the blankets, or snore, or _wake up everyone with an inane tune.”_ She clipped, as Mason, looking thoroughly henpecked, walked in. He avoided her gaze as he went on by, opting to talk to Reznov as he got set up in the safehouse’s communal bathroom. “How about yourself?”

“Oh, I think I got the rest I needed.” Lazar said. “Kwan practiced some Korean massage techniques to help me relax before I turned in. Said she needed someone to test her skills on, so who was I to turn down the offer?”

“That’s nice of you.” Helen said, finishing up and grabbing her towel. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should shower.” She said, before ducking into one of the shower stalls, stripping, flipping the lever and immediately being soaked in the deluge that followed. 

_Oh, great, they didn’t fix the heater..._

//

“Hudson, you’ve got a call from Langley!”

“Thanks Weaver, I’ll take it in the office.” Said Mr. Shades, the first to be in a state of order after the frankly unprofessional wake-up call. Stepping into the room that Adler had informally claimed as his own, ignoring the fact that the man in question had made his mark on the place, he shut the door, pulled the blinds, and picked up the phone. “Hudson.” He said.

“We have a problem.” Went the voice of Emerson Black.

“There’s always a problem, what is it this time?” Hudson asked, peeking out through the blinds as the team’s disparate members began to get ready for the day. Hunter was doing push-ups while waiting for a shower stall to free up, Baker had broken out some cereal, and Kwan was grabbing ingredients for a meal and dancing about the impromptu kitchen.

“One of the Operation Greenlight assets has gone missing.” Black said, and Hudson froze in his spot.

“Which one?” He said, after a pause.

“The one beneath the city you and your merry band of misfits are held up in, which at the very least means that if what we here at the agency think will happen happens, you’ll at least survive the initial fallout, possibly even enough for us to get you off the continent before anyone figures out it’s our doing.” Emerson said.

“Fuck.” Hudson said, pacing around the room. “How’d we lose control of the asset?”

“We think one of Perseus’ lieutenants is responsible. Not sure how he found the bomb in the first place, though.” Black replied. “Some in the agency believe we might have a mole. Dumb luck doesn’t seem to be a factor, with the way we’ve concealed these assets.”

“A mole? Is that even possible?” Hudson asked.

“Anything is possible, after all, between the emergence of someone we thought dead after the incident in Vietnam, and the revelation that _someone_ discovered and stole a nuclear bomb hidden beneath Berlin, well...don’t put a mole past Perseus.” Black said, voice calm and dissonant as usual. “Until further notice, you are to keep the details of Operation Greenlight hidden from the rest of your team, so if by some miracle they find out what happened while investigating Perseus, make it seem like he stole the nuke from someone else.”

“Understood, sir.” Hudson said.

“Oh, and one more thing-” Black said, causing Hudson to freeze. “-should you lose control of the asset we recovered in Trabzon, or should the asset become aware of the truth, you are to have it terminated immediately.”

“Of course sir, it will be done.”

//

“...here ya go pal, eat up!”

“It...it’s green.” Lazar said. 

“Yeah, that means it’s good for you!” Hunter said, throwing down on a seat opposite the man. “Come on, it can’t possibly hurt you!”

Baker ate a single spoonful and immediately toppled over, convulsing.

“Ignore him, he doesn’t count.” Hunter went, and with that, Lazar pushed the bowl away and got up.

“I’ll handle my own arrangements, thank you.” He said, making his way to the kitchen, where Kwan was just finishing up with her cooking. She gestured at whatever it was that was in the pan, and he nodded, silently agreeing that she was a much better cook than Hunter, who continued to eat his...green stuff while Zeyna tried to resuscitate Baker. 

“What the hell’d I miss?”

“Oh, not much.” Lazar said, nodding politely at Helen, who walked in, hair all wet and dripping everywhere on the concrete, not like anyone cared. “I hear Adler plans on having us talk shop about Vietnam after breakfast.”

“Well that’s because _someone_ wanted to talk about it during breakfast, but was outvoted by a wide margin.” Sims said, staring pointedly at Adler, who shrugged. “I get it, you wanna get it over with, I do too, but come on, at least let us eat first!”

“...definitely not much.” Helen muttered to herself, watching as Bell popped in, comb in hand.

“Want me to handle your hair?” They asked. “I used to brush my mom’s hair all the time. Style it too!”

“Mm, why not?” Helen asked. “It’ll be a good way to occupy my time while I wait for breakfast to arrive.”

“Breakfast to arrive? You’re not gonna cook?” Mason asked.

“It seemed simpler to just order out.” She said in response. “And I don’t really believe that whatever it is Woods is making for you counts as cooking.”

“Hey now, Woods is a perfectly good cook-”

Tuning Mason out, Helen leaned back as Bell moved the brush through her hair, styling it upwards, pulling a hair clip or two out of their pocket and snapping it onto her raven locks. “And there you go.” They said, patting her on the back. “You like it?” Helen moved to a nearby mirror, and took a moment to examine the style Bell had manipulated her hair into. Braids, in the kind of style that wouldn’t have been out of place on a rural farm girl. 

“I do, thank you, Bell.” She said. 

“Delivery car just pulled up.” Weaver said, looking out a window.

“Ah, that will be breakfast. I’ll be right back.” Helen said, stepping outside.

“...you okay, Bell?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Never better, Adler.” Bell said, smiling at the man in question. 

“You take your vitamins?” He asked.

“No, not yet. When I get something to eat, absolutely.” They noted, just in time for Helen to walk back in, a couple of boxes with her.

“Who wants pizza?”

//

“I feel insulted.”

“Get over it, Hunter.” Baker said, digging into a slice of pizza with an air of perceptible relief. 

“I do all that cooking and you go and eat pizza.” Hunter said.

“Like I said, get over it.” Baker clipped, tuning the man out.

“Do you not love me-”

“If you will all please focus your attention on _me-”_ Said Hudson. “-we can begin the briefing.”

“Briefing? Now?” Bell asked, sitting next to Helen.

“Of course, this may be the only time all of you are gathered together.” Hudson said, clasping his hands together. “Especially since some new intel has come in.” Getting up and waving a spoon at the evidence board, he pointed at a section that had a photo of Arash and another of Qasim on it. “The burned manifest recovered in Trabzon indicated that the plane’s shipments of counterfeit .45s-” 

“Who the hell fakes a .45? Solid gun, very reliable, just buy one-” Bell began, and Helen reached down to her plate, tore off a bit of pizza, and shoved it in their mouth, muffling the rest of the ex-KGB operative’s words.

“-as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted-” Hudson said. “-the shipments apparently originate from somewhere in Kiev. I had one of our sources do some deeper digging, and we have a proper location, a cargo port still under development, which is likely how it escaped our notice. So with that in mind, I believe it best if we send a small team from the task force-”

“You mean Team Dadler.” Woods said.

“-to do some recon, while everyone else will stay here and share their feelings about Vietnam or listen to said sharing of feelings, with those feelings hopefully being specifically oriented around those related to the dossier we also have pinned up on the evidence board.” Hudson finished. “Alright, lesson concluded, back to your meaningless conversations.” 

“Someone really didn’t like waking up that early.” Bell whispered to Helen. 

“You’re telling me.” She whispered back.

“Excuse me, Hudson, who gave us the location?” Zeyna asked, pointing a fork at him. “Just curious.”

“Robert Aldrich.” Hudson said, and as if a switch was thrown, Bell froze, before their hand began to tremble slightly, fist clenching once, twice, once again, before unclenching as they took a long, deep breath and returned to their food. “He’s in charge of domestic operations on the East Coast, so it technically falls outside his purview, but he offered his help when we brought in what remained of Trabzon’s evidence to Langley. He’s always been a thinker, not a fighter, so it’s not like we were going to turn down his help, there was no harm in getting another set of eyes on it.”

“He sounds like a pussy.” Woods muttered. “No offense to those of you with pussies.” He added hastily. “Pussy is awesome, or so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know, but I assume it’s awesome. So I mean no offense. At all.”

“None taken.” Helen, Zeyna and Kwan chorused at once. Bell simply raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent, finishing the last of their food and gulping down what remained of their water, looking oddly skittish the whole time. 

“Did you take your vitamins Bell?” Adler asked.

“They did.” Helen said rather hastily. “Honestly Adler, you worry about Bell too much.”

“Bell was literally shot a few weeks ago, you’ll have to excuse me if I want to make sure that my friend is recovering just fine.” Adler deadpanned.

“I’m good, Adler. Thanks.” Bell said, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Excellent, after all, we’ve got a job to do, wouldn’t do if you weren’t in top shape.”

//

After breakfast, Helen, like everyone else, helped clean up.

Returning to her sleeping space, she sighed, pulled out the bottle of _vitamins_ that Adler had so helpfully left for her to distribute to Bell. The thing hadn’t been opened, and as long as it was in her possession, it would remain that way. Bell might eventually fall victim to being dosed with one of those drugs MK-Ultra used, but she wouldn’t be the one to distribute them, she just wouldn’t.

“Something on your mind?”

“No, not really, Bell.” She said, turning about and swiftly concealing the bottle in question. “What about you?”

“...I’m not exactly excited to talk about Vietnam.” They said, crossing their arms. “Do I have to?”

“Well, it may be our only lead to figuring out Perseus’ next move, given that dossier we’ve got out in the main room.” Helen said. “It’s going to be uncomfortable, but I assure, I’ll be there to help you through it.” She gave them a small, reassuring smile. “And besides, you can always ask Sims and Adler to take over talking in the event that it gets...really uncomfortable for you.”

Helen watched as Bell stared at the dossier.

Staring at the dossier with the kind of look that suggested they wanted to be _anywhere_ else, Bell sighed, handed it over to Adler, and then took a seat in the little group circle the team had made up. Helen moved and took a spot next to Bell, placing a hand on theirs in solidarity. “You can do this.” She said softly. 

“I suppose I can.” They said, looking at the others. 

“So, who wants to talk about Vietnam first?” Lazar asked, looking around nervously, as a chorus came from all the Vietnam vets in the room-

“Not it.”

“Goddammit.” Bell muttered, looking around. Once again, it seemed like their bad luck had come into play, as everyone sat about, expectantly waiting for Bell to say something.

“Alright, I guess I’ll go first…”

//

**_Fracture Jaw_ **

**_“Bell” - CIA Special Activities Division, Ex-KGB_ **

**_Camp Haskins, Vietnam - Southeast Asia_ **

**_3:36 PM, January 26, 1968_ **

“Bell?”

Blinking awake, you looked up, into Adler’s face. The man was dressed in full battle gear, an amused smile on his face as he poked you a couple times. “Up and at ‘em, kid, it’s crank time.” 

“Nn, fine…” You muttered, climbing out of the corner you’d been holed up in, napping. An ammo crate was a really poor pillow, but well, you took what you could get. Snatching up your XM4 _(it’s not an XM4, it’s an M16, but whatever…)_ you got up and walked after Adler. “...what’s going on?”

“Well, besides another day in the life of Camp Haskins, we’ve got an op.” Said the older man, clapping a hand on your back and walking side-by-side with you. “You and Sims and I are gonna be having a grand old time today, taking a tour ‘round Vietnam’s more exciting sides.”

“I thought Woods and Mason were handling that part.” You said.

“The Tet Offensive is a different kind of party than the one we’re going to, though I’m sure we’ll eventually get in on that party soon enough. Who knows, maybe you’ll even be able to get their autographs.” Adler replied, patting your back twice as you and him arrived at a helicopter, where Sims was reading a magazine. “Sims! I see you’re being as scholarly as ever!”

“So I am.” Said Sims, nodding his head in polite acknowledgement to Adler. “And you brought the Ensign with us! What, is this a joint operation?” He asked, as he put the magazine in his backpack.

“Something like that.” Adler remarked, motioning for you to step into the helicopter--a Huey, you noted. You did exactly that. The man followed you a moment later, hopping in and taking a seat opposite you, banging on the side of the helicopter to let the pilots know you were ready to take off. “Word has it that there’s an old friend in town, a Soviet operative by the name of Perseus.”

“...Perseus? Oh shit.” Sims said.

“That would warrant that.” Adler said, waving his left arm _(still flesh, not metal, not yet)_ in the air as the helicopter lifted off and you got a lovely view of Camp Haskins from the air. “I see you read what he did to the _last_ set of guys who went after him.”

“If by read you mean _skimmed it, saw the photos, and gave up eating for the next thirty-six hours,_ then yeah, I read it.” Sims said. “Dude’s a bonafide monster, and we’re going after _him?”_

“Not necessarily, just his local base, or what’s suspected to be it, anyways. A lovely little village, a cabin in the woods…”

“...a getaway, if you will.”

//

“Camp Haskins.”

“Our oasis in the shithole that was Vietnam.” Adler said, flexing his metal fingers. “Surprisingly nice.”

“Except for the part where we spent a few weeks wearing each other’s underwear.” Sims muttered.

“And the Bob Marley thing.” Adler noted. “Which Bell was responsible for.”

“Fake news.” You declared.

//

“Coming up on the village now.”

“Bell, get on the gun, it’s showtime!” Adler shouted, racking his rifle. You nodded and grabbed the controls to the nearby minigun, spinning the turret up. “All targets are valid, no civilians here!” 

“Miniguns aren’t surgeon’s scalpels, so I wasn’t really expecting to be all that precise anyways!’ You called out, zeroing in on movement far below. Rockets and gunfire came up to greet the helicopters that encroached upon the village, and the guns--yours included, roared to life in response, raining fire down on the village.

“Circle right, circle right! Find us an LZ!” Adler commanded the pilots, as you and Sims busied yourselves with firing on Viet Cong who came running out to challenge you. Your minigun sang, tearing apart entire groups of militants, before the helicopter began to descend. “Ready up, we’re going in!”

“Let’s do this, Bell!” Sims shouted, grabbing his M14 _(I prefer a sniper rifle, but at that range, DMRs were a better idea…)_ and hopping off the chopper, taking point. You grabbed your XM4 and slid out of the vehicle, Adler at your side, his M16A1 already barking.

“The target building is at the end of this block, come on!” Adler said, waving you and Sims forward. You fired on several Viet Cong, sending them diving for cover. “Gotta get in there before they can clear house!”

“What’s in there anyways?” Sims asked, blasting someone who’d been aiming to flank. 

“Something good, or at least a target we can trash!” Adler called back, as you threw a grenade and ducked behind a wall as it blew, scattering a squad that had come on by. With lethal efficiency, the three of you fought your way to an open street, and immediately came under heavy fire. 

“Badger Niner-One, put some fire down!” Sims shouted, and the minigun that you’d been previously using roared to life once more, tearing a hole in the defenders and giving your team the edge.

“Nice job! The way is clear, let’s push into the building!” Adler called out. “Bell, take point, I’m right behind you. Sims, cover our flank, we’re going in!”

“Copy!” Sims said, as you slammed open the door to the building and stormed inside, firing on--and being fired upon, almost immediately. You slid behind a pillar and picked off a pair of unwary Viet Cong, giving Adler cover as he stormed up the stairs, Sims hanging behind at the doorway, firing at targets of opportunity.

“This just ain’t your day, assholes!”

Laughing briefly, you cut down the last defenders in the hallway and stepped out into a balcony, an odd red door just beyond your reach. “Curious…” You breathed, looking at Adler, who walked over to it. 

“Sims, cover. I’ll go first. Bell, breach, on three. One, two-” You kicked in the door before he could finish, and, rolling with it, Adler moved in and fired thrice, loud thumping indicating he’d hit his marks. “-that works too, I guess.” He said, as you and Sims stepped inside...and found bodies that were distinctly different from the ones just outside.

“Well, these guys ain’t Vietnamese, not by a long shot.” Sims muttered, as you noticed a dossier, with a fresh bloody handprint, innocently lying on the desk. You walked towards it as if in a trance, and picked it up.

“A comm’s log.” You said, and handed it to Adler, who took it. 

“Seems like more than just a comm’s log to me.” He said, flipping through it, before passing it back to you. “Hang on to it, Bell. You’re now the most important soldier on this op.” Moving a hand to his radio, Adler began speaking to Nine-One’s pilots, letting them know it was time for extraction. Something about that log...there was something about it that...that…

_We will move the weapons to Volkov-_

“Bell, you good?” Sims asked, and you nodded, blinking briefly, seeing the Sims of today _(1981, not 1968)_ and then the Sims of yesterday _(1968, not 1981)_ as you walked out towards the waiting helicopter. 

“Did you find anything in there?” One of the pilots called out, as you climbed in, Adler and Sims following you, taking up spots on your flank.

“A phonebook full of Soviet intel!” Adler said, the helicopter lifting off into the sky. “Gonna give us a big edge in figuring out what Perseus has planned for this region!”

_...Perseus…Perseus...Perseus…_

//

“Volkov.”

“What?” Lazar asked, watching concernedly as you got up and walked over to the dossier, comms log, _whatever_ and flipped it open frantically, the jumbled words and phrases within it making sense now. “Bell-” 

“Anton Volkov.”

“...I know that name.” Sims and Helen said in unison, looking at each other. 

“Arms dealer, born on the coast of Leningrad. He’s been a pain in MI6’s ass for the better part of several years now.” Helen said, to all of those around her who were a bit _less_ enlightened on why that name was so important.

“Tried to hunt him down in Italy two years back, the man was at a douchebag conference.” Sims said. “Unfortunately, he got away. I’d like to correct that sometime.”

“That might have to wait.” You said, tossing the dossier back on the table. “All I have is his name. I don’t know where he could be.”

“Well, he’s an arms dealer, right?” Zeyna asked, raising a finger. “Qasim and Arash were shipping arms, so in theory, all we have to do is follow that, and it could lead us to Volkov.” 

“Kiev.” Kwan muttered, looking at Weaver. “It bears checking out, right?”

“I think so.” Said the Russian. “Let’s take a closer look at some of the goods recovered from Trabzon, after we’re done here.” 

“After we’re done here? I thought we _were_ done.” You questioned.

“Well, there’s still the mission in Hué City…” Adler began, and you and Sims looked at each other. 

“Fuck.”

//

**_Kiev_ **

“Excuse me, are you Leon “Six Fingers” Dubray?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you-” Said the aforementioned Leon “Six Fingers” Dubray, and that was as far as he got before a knife was embedded in his throat, slicing one side to the other, killing him instantly. Undeterred by the spray of blood, the man known only as “Naga” simply slid the blade back into his holster.

“Perseus thanks you for all your hard work, but your services are no longer required.”

//


	7. Puppets, Strings, Twisted Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Cad Bane is awesome, and so is Samantha Maxis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will no longer be using exact times unless necessary because I can't be arsed to remember what time zone is which and whatnot.

//

**_Waypoint 6, Kiev - Europe_ **

**_February 13, 1981_ **

There was, at that moment, a dead body cooling on the floor.

Stepping over it as if it was a misplaced toy, Kapono “Naga” Vang sheathed his knife and walked away from his latest kill, and into the depths of the large, spacious warehouse that the late Six Fingers had been using. The faint light glinting off of his sunglasses, he walked down the hallway, hearing faint voices as he silently stalked along. A hand crept to the heavily-customized blaster pistol at his hip, and as he passed by an open door, it came out, and three shots rang out. A trio of dockworkers who had been on their break toppled over, smoking holes in their limp frames. Continuing merrily along, Kapono heard footsteps, as another worker came around the corner.

“What-”

A single shot, and the man toppled over, his seared chest and face, frozen in a rictus of surprise, telling the tale as he toppled to the ground. Twirling his blaster, Naga pushed through the large double-doors, and into the vast repository that was the warehouse’s main storeroom. There were a number of workers in there, and as they took in the sight of a masked man, killing intent visible through his sunglasses, Kapono nodded his head in polite greeting.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

A moment later, he lifted his blaster, his free hand pulling his _other_ blaster from it’s holster, and started firing. Each shot hit its mark, worker after surprised worker going down in a single, clean shot. Some of the workers attempted to flee, or dodge, but Kapono simply adjusted his aim and fired anyways, cutting them down in their futilely desperate attempt to evade him. Nearly a dozen shots later, and the room was silent once more. Twirling his blasters, Kapono walked into the center of the room, picked up a crowbar that a now-dead worker had dropped, and slammed it into a crate, yanking it open.

Inside the crate were weapons, assault rifles, pistols, submachine guns, shotguns...effective, but not what he was looking for. Continuing to walk along, he pried open crate after crate, finding more and more boxes full of guns, more disappointments. At last, he found a crate in the backroom, looking a bit different than the ones previously shanked open, and after opening it, he smiled beneath his mask.

Jackpot.

Inside was a large, cylindrical device, of green coloration. He knew what it was, of course, it wasn’t hard to see that this was _the_ device that his employer had been coveting all this time. At last, the Greenlight-Class Tactical Nuclear Weapon was within his grasp. Pulling out a small, flat, circular communicator, he set it down on a nearby box and tapped it, causing a holographic representation of a familiar figure to manifest upon it.

“Is it done?”

“If you’ll look to your left and a little bit down, you’ll see that it is, indeed, done.” Kapono said. “One nuclear weapon, courtesy of the Americans, delivered by Volkov.” He gestured at the weapon when the man in the hologram turned to look at it. “I’ll have it transported to Duga shortly, Stitch. Then we’ll talk about payment.”

The man known as Stitch--Vikhor Kuzmin, to be perfectly precise, made a noise that sounded somewhere on par with gargling glass. “Indeed we will, Naga.” He said, turning back to the masked man in question. “However, before you transport _the asset,_ there is one more thing I would like you to do for me.”

“Extra? It’s gonna cost you.” Naga clipped, crossing his arms in a show of defiance.

“Oh, I’ll make it very worth your while.” Stitch said. “Fifty-thousand dollars, right now, if you leave evidence that points Russell Adler’s little joint-operation straight to Volkov.” 

“Volkov?” Naga said, his voice lightly surprised. “I thought he was on your side, with you and your _Grand Plan.”_

“It is the belief of Perseus that his loyalties are wavering.” Stitch said. “Apparently, the fortune he was paid to smuggle _the asset_ through Berlin was not nearly enough to make up for the impending loss of his European customer base.” The man gestured with his hand, towards Naga. “Hence the offer. All you have to do is leave a few crumbs that give Adler and company reason to hunt down Volkov. It’s easy money.”

“Hm, I’ll take it.” Naga said. “Of course, you’re gonna have to give me some specifics here.”

“Volkov will be in East Berlin next week to finalize a business deal. A courier of his, Franz Kraus, will be the main intermediary.” Stitch said. “That good enough for you?”

“Seems workable.” Naga replied. “I’ll make sure it’s in an area that seems plausible enough, maybe use the late Six Fingers as the bait.”

“Go with that.” Stitch clipped. “In addition to your payment, you may take whatever you wish from the crates within the warehouse.” His words caused Kapono to raise his eyebrows, and from his reaction, Stitch seemed to have noticed.

“Really now? I was under the impression you needed these weapons.” He said.

“We did, but after the incident at Trabzon, they have become a liability.” Stitch said. “It is the reason I am tasking you with this new job to mislead Adler’s team to Volkov. Arash Kadivar--the supplier of the weapons you are now being compensated with, made the mistake of gloating to Adler about Perseus before he was killed. According to my inside source in the CIA, Adler has discovered the existence of the Kiev Waypoint and will likely visit it soon.”

“And as Volkov seems to be in the middle of becoming a liability, that’s why you want me to point him in the fat man’s direction when the time comes?” Naga asked.

“Exactly.”

Naga hummed, a low, pensive growl. “Alright, you’ll have your misleading evidence placed somewhere where Adler will find it. Just make sure my payment is ready when I’m done here.” 

“Of course.” Stitch said, before he terminated the call, his hologram vanishing. Plucking up the comm and putting it away, he began to walk out of the room. He would be back for the nuke...and the other goods he could use. But for now, he had some evidence to plant. Anton Volkov was not particularly pleasant to work with, but he had paid well, yet it seemed like his usefulness had come to an end. Oh well, there were always more clients with money to see.

A soft, pained gasp caught his attention.

Noticing a bloody smear on the ground, Naga followed it, and found, at the end of the metaphorical bloody rainbow, a half-conscious worker attempting to hold a phone, struggling to dial numbers into it. Reacting quickly, Naga drew his blaster and shot the phone, blasting it to pieces, and causing the surprised worker to fall to the ground. Advancing on the terrified man, Naga pressed a boot down on the man’s wound, and levelled his blaster pistol at his face.

“Such heroic nonsense.”

//

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 13, 1981_ **

“You know, we don’t necessarily have to talk about the Hué City mission today.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” Sims and Bell said in unison, getting up and bolting, each in separate directions. 

“...what’s with those two?” Lazar asked, watching Bell all but bolt back to the safety of their hidey-hole in the corner of the safehouse.

“Hué City was rough. Watching a city fall to a ravenous enemy while you can do nothing to stop it does that to you.” Adler said. “I would personally prefer to get it out of the way as soon as possible, but if Sims and Bell don’t want to talk about it, then we can wait. We have time. For now, anyways. I don’t think that op is super important to finding Volkov, anyways.”

“Surprised you’re taking their feelings into consideration.” Helen snarked.

“Sims is my best man. He deserves to be taken into consideration.” Adler said, staring at the information related to the eponymous mob boss. 

“And Bell?” Helen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What about ‘em?” Adler said, before turning his attention to the information on Volkov. “Our ugly friend over here has connections to cartels throughout the Americas and gangs all across Europe. For all intents and purposes, he’s a regular Godfather.”

“His influence has even started to bleed into Tel Aviv.” Lazar said. “A few of his contacts use it as a waypoint between jumps to other countries. We at the Mossad suspect he might be trying to branch out into Asia by way of using Tel Aviv as a staging ground.”

“Cartels, huh? If this hunt for Perseus swings us their way, we have a contact in Nicaragua who could help us out with that.” Baker said, scrutinizing a photo of Volkov. “Weaver would have to get in touch with her, though. I don’t have her number off the top of my head.”

“Who are you talking about?“ Adler asked.

“Karla Rivas.” Zeyna said. “She’s spent the last several years making life hell for the Menendez Cartel, and it’s entirely possible that if Volkov has connections to them, then so does Perseus.”

“She’s solid in battle. Quick, nimble, light on her feet. A scout’s scout. We tried to recruit her the last time we were in the neighborhood, but she wanted to stay close to home.” Baker added, shrugging as he went. “Pity.”

“The Menendez Cartel…” Woods growled. “...I’ve heard bad things about those guys. Their leader’s some kind of philanthropic whack-job who kills the rich to feed the poor.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be _stealing from the rich to feed the poor?”_ Hunter asked.

“I said what I said.” Woods declared, banging his fist on the table. “I don’t know who the fuck calls himself _Odysseus_ with a straight face, but he’s one evil motherfucker. Word has it that he locked a businessman in a warehouse and set it on fire to teach him a lesson about accountability.” Woods snorted. “I like the one-percent as much as the next guy and I’ll be the first to get out there and vote for equality on the financial situation in America, but lighting one of those beancounters on fire is just flat out wrong. Makes a good point, but wrong all the same. Just occupy Wall Street, for fuck’s sake.”

“Assuming you can get past all the Ferengi, anyways.” Mason muttered.

“It’s worth looking into if our hunt leads us there, but Volkov is our primary target here, with the lead being fairly solid thanks to Bell.” Adler said. “From what it seems, he’s the lynchpin connecting the various cartels and gangs together, without him in place, it all falls apart.”

“Volkov’s elimination _would_ cause all the syndicates that previously worked together to suspect each other of being the ones behind it.” Lazar said. “At the very least it would prevent them from working with one another, though if we’re lucky, they’d fall into chaotic infighting and make finding pieces of this puzzle much easier.” 

“Taking Volkov out? Give me a location, and I’ll have a .50 through his head before the end of the day.” Baker said, crossing his arms. “Twenty bucks says that once you find him, I can have his head on this table before lunchtime.”

“I’ll take that bet.” Woods said, fist-bumping Baker a moment after. “Hell, I’ll up the ante, if you take his head off in one shot, you win a hundred bucks.”

“Done.”

“Actually, I would prefer Volkov be taken alive if possible.” Helen interjected, stepping up to the table. “MI6 has been desperate to get their hands on him for years now. He’s slipped through every trap, fought off every attempt to apprehend him, evaded every tail, you name it.” She turned her steely gaze upon Adler, crossing her arms for emphasis. “He’s the key to answering a number of questions the Crown has been dying to ask him.”

“If circumstances allow, taking him alive will be considered, Park.” Adler said. “But it’s all academic unless we find where he’s hiding.”

“Which is where the Kiev lead comes into play.” Weaver intoned. “I want Mason, Woods, Zeyna and Baker front-and-center on this one. Bulldozer and I will handle comms and transport. With any luck, we’ll find something of use that will lead us to Volkov’s whereabouts.”

“Once you have a location on Volkov and we’ve confirmed he’s going to be there-” Hudson said. “-Adler and his team will move in and handle the situation.” 

“I was just about to suggest that, Hudson.” Weaver muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah douche, don’t interrupt when others are speaking!” Baker mouthed off, immediately regretting it when Hudson turned his icy gaze upon him. 

“Settle down everyone.” Adler said. “Even without Hudson’s noting of the visibly obvious, Fireteam Normandy-”

“Team Dadler.”

“-Fireteam _Normandy_ would be the only ones able to respond in time in this hypothetical two-pronged assault.” Adler clarified, brushing off Woods’ remark. ”With that in mind, I’ll take point with Bell, Park, Kwan and Lazar. Details on mission gear and operational zone movement to be hashed out once we know where Volkov actually is.”

“That seems acceptable.” Weaver said. “Not the most thorough plan, but we have time to fill in the gaps. Better than what we usually work with.”

“Yes, Bulldozer still has that scar on his ass to commemorate the last time we went in without a plan.” Zeyna noted.

“He has what now?” Lazar asked.

“Long story.” Weaver, Zeyna, Baker and Kwan all said at once.

“Ass-related accidents aside, it’s gonna be a bit of a drive to Kiev.” Mason said. “Between the travel time, mission time and post-mission analysis, we might need at least the next week to get this whole thing sorted out.”

“We can work with that.” Adler said. “In the meantime, the rest of us will stay here, hash out the details of Hué City in case there _is_ something of importance we can use in the hunt for Perseus, and when you have a solid fix on Volkov, we’ll set up a proper plan and move in.”

“Good luck with that first part.” Helen muttered under her breath, thoughts wandering towards Bell.

_Maybe I should check on them…_

Getting up, Helen moved to go find Bell, only to have a hand placed on her shoulder. Turning about, she saw Hudson, giving her an odd look. “Stay here, work with Adler on the topic of Volkov. I'll handle Bell.” He said, before striding away.

_Like you order me around…_

Still, realizing this wasn’t a fight she would win, Helen turned around and went back to examining the evidence related to Volkov. Already, Adler was putting stuff on the board, markers to point the team towards the picture of Perseus that sat almost mockingly on the front of the board. As she stared at it, debating the hilarity that the man had a literal task force bearing his name in the _Anti-Perseus Task Force_ title that really needed to be amended to something way cooler, she narrowed her eyes.

Check that, make it mockingly, the bastard was definitely mocking her.

//

“Bell.”

Whirling about, you turned to face Hudson, your headphones coming off, the music--a little known band called _Against The Current_ fading to background noise as you faced the CIA Agent in question. “Yes, Hudson?” You asked, straightening up to your full height, which did not garner an impressed expression from the man in question.

“You might need this.” Said Hudson, holding out a bottle of water. You took it, uncapped it and began to sip from the thing.

“I was there in Khé Sanh, when the Tet Offensive began.”

Looking at Hudson with a quizzical expression, you continued to sip as the man continued to speak. “Woods and Mason were with me. We were shot out of our vehicle, and fought our way across a firebase in chaos as an endless tide of soldiers came out of nowhere, hell-bent on killing us.” He gave you a look, and gestured at you. “I nearly died that day, just as you nearly died in Trabzon.” 

“...seems we have something in common.” You said.

“Not exactly. I was still fit to fight after my brush with death, while you...well, all that time in the hospital speaks for itself. You took part in the fight for Hué City, near the tail end, when we were being driven out by the NVA. Of course, I wasn’t there, but Mason and Woods were, you know this, after all.”

“I do.” You murmured, feeling a flash of sensation as you remembered that day, moving in on a burning city with a single goal to accomplish, whatever the cost.

“What I’m trying to say is...you don’t have to relate your side of Hué City to the team.” Hudson declared, causing you to stare at him in surprise. “Woods and Mason filed detailed reports, and Adler and Sims were there beside you, so it’s not like there’s anything you would’ve missed that they can’t cover for.” He gestured at you with one hand, the other still at his side...hovering oddly close to his sidearm. You brushed it off, he was probably just putting on the CIA Agent act to mess with you. “I saw the look in your eyes when you were talking about Fracture Jaw. You don’t have to relive that old wound in front of the team.”

Nodding, you pressed a finger to the small scar on your neck, where a bi of shrapnel had nailed you in Trabzon. A clean hit, but still, a painful reminder of what could’ve happened, had you been just a little less lucky. “What do you want me to do, then? Just sit there and listen along?”

“No. I’m giving you the day off when we do get around to talking about Hué City.” Hudson said. “Take Agent Park with you, she seems to have her mind set on hunting down Volkov, it might do her some good to get her mind off of the man, get some fresh air. We all need breaks from the things that haunt us. This is yours.”

“Yes sir.” You said. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

“Please, you can call me Hudson.” Said the man in question. “And from the bottom of my ass...welcome to the team.”

You laughed. 

//

**_Puppets, Strings, Twisted Things_ **

**_Samantha Maxis_ **

**_Virginia - United States of America_ **

**_February 13, 1981_ **

Phasing through a gate, the figure that was Samantha Maxis quietly walked through the parking garage. 

Her search for Robert Aldrich had led her here, to this seemingly innocuous parking garage where he was supposed to be meeting someone, she wasn’t quite sure who it was he was meeting with, but she supposed she would find this out soon enough. Unlike his colleagues at the CIA, Samantha knew that Aldrich had turned traitor, and was working with Perseus for an unknown reason, though she certainly had her suspicions. She imagined that the Soviet spy was busy setting up a network of infiltrators to make up for the collapse of the intricate web that Dragovich had laid. That, or Aldrich was feeding information to the old man. Maybe both, it wasn’t like those secretive, rather large money transfers that Aldrich had been collecting under false names were for something as simple as letting Perseus know what the CIA served in the cafeteria every week. 

Though it wouldn’t be surprising if he _did_ know what was served in the cafeteria each week.

Pausing her footsteps as she rounded a corner, Samantha heard an echo of voices in the background, the far background. Phasing into the Aether and out of sight, she resumed her movement, a hand going to the shield at her back and drawing it, slipping it around her arm. The shield--Starfang, as the man she had considered a father to her had called it, had served her well over the years, the unyielding red, white and blue discus saving her life time and again. Stepping out of the shadows and into the light, Samantha’s purple eyes flared softly as she laid her icy, analytical stare upon Aldrich, what could only be an agent of Perseus, and about three guards. It seemed that they had decided on subtlety tonight, which was sort of disappointing when one thought about it.

She was hoping for a real fight.

“Hello there!” Samantha shouted, phasing into sight and throwing the whirling metal disc at the Perseus operative’s head. The man, too stunned at the sudden appearance of an interloper, was too slow and went down when the shield slammed into his skull and shattered it, but Aldrich...oh, the man _ran._ Flinging her hand out and spraying beams of energy at the nearby thugs, tearing holes in them and leaving them dead or dying within moments, she retrieved Starfang as it came rebounding back to her and took off after Aldrich.

“Hey, hey bitch, no no don’t run away, come back, I have your pink slip!”

Aldrich, it seemed, was not inclined to listen to her at all, as he hopped a railing and kept running almost the instant he hit the ground. Laughing merrily, Samantha phased through the floor and landed on the same level as Aldrich, in time to see him dive onto a motorcycle, rev it, and tear off like a madman, weaving into traffic and away from her. Oh, he wanted to race. Cute. Very cute. 

“Running only makes me want you more!”

Feeling sparks of purple energy dance across her feet, Samantha tore off like a shot, dashing out into the street, and then after the motorcycle that Aldrich was manning. She deftly twirled and dodged around the various cars and trucks that were in traffic, the drivers no doubt astonished at seeing a woman go on by like they were standing still. Aldrich looked back, and immediately regretted his decision as Samantha began to gain on him, leaving purple, electric footprints in her wake. He threw his motorcycle into the oncoming traffic, and Samantha immediately changed course, going after him, running and jumping onto the onrushing vehicles, using them as stepping stones, one after the other as she nimbly chased down her quarry, laughing joyously all the while.

“Give it up already, I’m not gonna kill you...yet!”

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say, as Aldrich somehow managed to push the motorcycle harder than it already was going, and as he drove head-on at an oncoming big-rig, Samantha leaped, landed atop the eighteen-wheeler, and ran across it, banging along the metal rooftop before leaping back down onto the street. Having gained on Aldrich, Samantha tapped further into the Aether and swiftly managed to overtake him as he crossed a bridge that thankfully wasn’t in use at the time he’d turned onto it. Leaping ahead of him and whirling about on her feet, Samantha drew Starfang and slammed it into the ground, smirking as Aldrich, unable to compensate in time, crashed head-on into it, the unyielding metal causing his motorcycle to flip, throwing him forwards and away. Pulling her shield up from where it had dented the ground, she saw Aldrich tumble to the ground, grunting painfully as he did so. Something clattered to the ground and skittered off, and as Samantha stalked closer to Aldrich, she saw the fear in his eyes.

“Hi Robbie, I just need to ask you a few questions-”

A vibrant _snap-hiss_ was all the warning she got before the Aether screamed a warning of it’s own, and Samantha raised her shield, blocking a crimson-red blade as it slammed hard into the metal, neither weapon giving. Growling, she kicked the interloper, knocking away a masked, hooded man--who had just one eye, she observed. He recovered swiftly from the blow, and then raised his blood-red saber in a challenging fashion. Narrowing her eyes, Samantha slid Starfang into its harness on her back and put a hand on the sword at her hip.

“Aldrich, run. I’ll handle her.”

“Lots of people have said that, none of them have ever succeeded in doing what they promised!” Samantha shouted, and with a war cry, drew her Katana--the Path of Sorrows, courtesy of the late Takeo Masaki, and charged. Behind her, Aldrich booked it, but Samantha didn’t mind. She could hunt him down later, after she dealt with this nuisance. Her sword crashed against the blood-red saber of the one-eyed man, both fighters meeting each other in an intricate, fast-paced dance that only they knew. The distinctive _shing_ of Aether-empowered metal and the crackling hum of crimson-hued pure energy filled the air as they fought, unable to gain an edge over each other. Her sword parried his strikes, the attacks he made meeting empty air or the metal of the Path of Sorrows, her swings--which would’ve killed anyone had they connected--being blocked by the crimson blade.

“Who sent you?” She demanded, as she forced the man back to the edge of the bridge. He simply chuckled and then reached out with his hand, and a pulse of energy threw Samantha against the opposite side of the construct. Retaliating with a beam of purple dynamism, the man dodged the blast, which tore a hole in the concrete of the bridge. Landing deftly atop the side of the bridge, the man deactivated his saber, and gave her a mocking, two-finger salute.

“Perseus sends his regards, _Samantha.”_

And with that, the man backflipped over the side of the bridge, vanishing into the night. Rushing over, Samantha peered over the side and looked intently into the dark, but saw nothing but empty, eerie blackness. “Oh, he’s good.” She muttered to herself, sheathing her katana and walking back towards the destroyed motorcycle. Not much of use had survived the crash, it seemed, and Aldrich was long gone, though she imagined the man would no doubt check himself into a hospital or something. It looked like he’d taken quite a fall, after all. In the late-night moonlight, something...intriguing, for lack of a better word, caught her attention, and she reached down, picking it up. A floppy disc, scratched up but otherwise intact, looked up at her. Closing her eyes, Samantha flared and vanished into the Aether, a soft echo of her voice lingering in the air.

“...oh, Perseus, what secrets do you hide?”

//

Gasping for breath, Aldrich slumped against a wall.

He had only just managed to outrun the crazy, psychotic, purple-eyed woman who had come after him, and if Stitch hadn’t intervened...he shuddered at the thought of what the woman would do to him. Right now, he needed to get himself checked out by a medic or something, because his right side was aching something fierce, and more importantly, he needed to find a way to evade the psychotic woman-

“Caught your breath yet?”

Jerking about, he saw Stitch, looking at him, his good eye staring balefully at him. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.” He smoothed his jacket out and attempted to regain some of his composure. “Is she dead?”

A mocking laugh answered him. “You think I’m good enough to take on _Samantha Maxis_ and _win?”_ Stitch asked, walking over to Aldrich. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. I was just ensuring she wouldn’t get you while you ran...which seems to be the only thing you’re good at.”

“I assure you that I’m good at a great many things-” Aldrich said, before Stitch shoved him against the wall and began patting him down roughly.

“The disk with the names of your contacts. I want it.” Stitch said, before growling as he came up empty. “Where is it, _Robert?”_

Aldrich had a horrible, horrible realization.

“I...I must’ve lost it in the crash-” He began, and that was as far as he got before Stitch raised his hand, and Aldrich began to float off the ground, gagging and choking and gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

“I hate working with amateurs. I hate working with people who make simple mistakes. And I _hate_ working with cowards like you.” Stitch said, strangling Aldrich with the Force, watching with a baleful yellow eye all the while. “I hate your inability to fulfill the simple tasks we put before you. I hate your clumsiness and the fact that I had to leave the Pines to babysit you tonight. And I _really_ hate your haircut.”

“P-please-” Aldrich gasped, before he was roughly dropped to the ground, able to breathe again. Elated at this burst of mercy, he attempted to stand, only to have fingers press against his head, shoving him to the wall. He felt _something_ start to dig around in his mind, and he writhed in pain as Stitch simply took what he wanted.

“There, that wasn’t so hard.” Observed the man as he withdrew his fingers, causing Aldrich to slump to the ground. “You have an impressive network of contacts, it’s _almost_ enough to make me spare you...but seeing as Samantha most likely has the disk, your network will likely not be long for this world.” Drawing the lightsaber at his hip, Stitch ignited it, the sickly crimson blade manifesting in the darkness of the alley. “You have failed me, Aldrich.” He declared, before swinging the blade at the cowering man’s neck.

“The penalty for failure is death.”

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random note but Stitch would look really good in Sith robes so if you want to you can imagine he was wearing them instead of his multiplayer skins, which are equally badass but SITH ROBES COME ON. 
> 
> Also the others will be decked out in their multiplayer skins, because those look way cooler. Haven't decided which ones though but I really like the idea of Adler dressing up like a cowboy and Park embracing the spy look with her Double Agent skin. 
> 
> Bell will get something cool to wear. I can't decide which one just yet though because we got options baby.
> 
> Starfang is the name of the shield wielded by a version of Tank Dempsey who became Captain America. Samantha spent some time in his dimension and was basically adopted by him, and he passed the shield to her prior to the whole "blowing up the multiverse" thing. 
> 
> Takeo Masaki gifted her the Path of Sorrows prior to the aforementioned multiverse destruction.
> 
> Sam is wearing her multiplayer skin. For now anyways. I might make her dress up like a Jedi later. Maybe Avar Kriss.
> 
> Adler & Stitch are Sith Lords. Adler's just more subtle about it than Stitch is. But then again he's just sitting around talking so he hasn't yet had a need to bring out the fancy red lightsaber and Force Lightning. Yet. He might use it on Woods later you never know.


	8. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author adapts the 70's episode opening of WandaVision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANACHRONISMS. ANACHRONISMS EVERYWHERE.

//

**_Amazon World Headquarters, Seattle - United States Of America_ **

**_February 14, 1981_ **

“Mr. Bezos?”

“Gah!” Jerking up from his seat, Jeffrey Preston Bezos slammed his hands on his desk and whirled about in the direction of the person who had the misfortune to catch him in the middle of an afternoon nap. Of course, seeing as he was the CEO of the very company whose office he happened to be taking a nap in, it didn’t really matter all that much. Flashing the startled secretary a smile, he straightened up, composed himself, and beckoned her in. “Yes, you have something for me?” He asked, voice just a little bit shaky from being woken up so rudely.

“Miss Julie Nathanson is here for your afternoon appointment.” Said the secretary, handing him the requisite forms that he had asked for. “Shall I call her in?”

“Of course, thank you very much for the update, Miss Koberstein.” Bezos said, taking the time granted to him when his secretary walked out to go fetch Miss Nathanson to straighten his appearance out. It was probably unbecoming of the CEO of the multi-bazillion dollar company to be asleep at his own desk, but well, it wasn’t like he could be fired, now could he? Just a few seconds after he had finished straightening himself out, two figures passed through the threshold, one of them Claire Koberstein, who nodded a polite goodbye as she shut the door, giving the duo a measure of privacy. Standing up from his desk, Jeff Bezos produced a small device, tapped it once, and as it whirred to life, a faintly-visible energy field appeared, coating the room. A moment after that, Bezos shimmered with faint, purplish light, and-

“Well, now there’s a handy trick.”

-gave way to Edward “Eddie” Richtofen. “Samantha!” Edward declared, walking over to embrace his sister. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Samantha said with a smile. “Work, mostly. Specifically, _this.”_ And with a wave of her hand, she produced the floppy disk she’d taken from the ruins of Robert Aldrich’s motorcycle. “I need to know what’s on this.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right man for this.” Richtofen said, taking the disk from her hands, and with a wave of his own, summoning a supercomputer...one that just so happened to look like a laptop from about forty-something years in the future, because Richtofen was just that good at his job. It did, however, have a port specifically made for the floppy disk, which he happily put in a moment later, conjuring another seat for Samantha to sit down on.

“So, how goes that whole thing with Perseus?”

“Badly.” Samantha said, as she sipped on a drink that had materialized out of thin air. “I went after Aldrich, but he got away.”

“Away, from _you?”_ Richtofen barked a laugh. “...Samantha, _mein schwester,_ how the hell did you let _that_ man of all people get away from you?”

“Because I got jumped by a Sith Lord.” Samantha said, and Richtofen stopped laughing almost immediately. “Has one eye, wore a hood, growly type. I think his lightsaber has two blades, but he only used one on me for some reason. He fought me to a standstill, then bolted.”

“And Aldrich?” Richtofen asked, frowning at the calculations the supercomputer was busy putting the disk through in an attempt to uncover the secrets within.

“I found his body several blocks away. He’d been decapitated.” Samantha reported. “Hence why I came to you. With Aldrich dead, that disk is our only lead related to Perseus.”

“The only lead _so far.”_ Richtofen corrected. “You did say that Adler and company...your child included, are busy working on their own hunt for the man.”

“I did. I do hope they’ve come up with something.” Samantha said, as the computer beeped softly, causing Richtofen to focus intensely on it. “What do you have?”

“...it’s a list of names and locations.” Richtofen said. “Unfortunately, the disk was mostly corrupted, likely from the damage it sustained in the crash. Of all the names, there’s only one in there that remains uncorrupted.”

“Which is?” Samantha asked, leaning in, an intense look in her purple eyes.

“Doctor William Peck.”

“I’m afraid I'm not familiar with that name.” Said the German woman, and in response, Richtofen waved a hand, and a tablet with a relevant profile manifested in her hands.

“Brilliant man. He possesses an IQ of 179 and quite frankly, makes my Ultimis persona look like a saint. He works for the Department of Defense, who hasn’t yet noticed that he’s a complete full-bore looney about _this_ close to bombing the Pentagon because they won’t give him a pay raise even though he rakes in enough money to make anyone in his workplace jealous. Of course it’s nothing compared to what I have, hell, I make that just by breathing, but still.” Richtofen folded his hands. “Peculiar that Aldrich would have his name on file. I don’t believe those two would have reason to meet. He’s a scientist, not a spy or a soldier.”

“It must be something connected to Perseus.” Samantha said. “Remember that last communique from _Sunstone_ before Trabzon? About Perseus having a network from just about everywhere in the world?”

“This must be the American branch.” Richtofen surmised. “It bears looking into, though unlike Aldrich, I don’t believe you’ll be able to just walk up to Peck in a parking garage and talk to him about Perseus.”

“Why?” Samantha asked.

“Because he’s not as stupid as Aldrich is.” Richtofen said. “The man lives off the grid, or something close to it, anyways. And he doesn’t go out on dates with Perseus operatives.”

“Can you find him?” Samantha questioned, looking her brother in the eye.

“If I’d decided to set up Facebook about two decades early instead of Amazon, absolutely. However, seeing as we’ve not yet come up with Amazonbook, unfortunately I’m gonna have to say _no.”_ Richtofen noted. “But I imagine that if you follow the Sith Lord you were fighting, you’ll find him. He seems like an extremely valuable resource that Perseus would protect.”

“I’m not so sure, after what happened with _Sunstone_ in Trabzon…”

“That doesn’t count.” Richtofen said hastily. “You and I know that Arash was jealous AF about _your child_ being the very best, like no one ever was. I’m sure if Perseus had been there personally he would’ve killed Arash on the spot before he could’ve actually opened fire.”

“You and I both know that the man sees his assets as pawns only, _Sunstone_ told us that, while pretending to be blissfully suckered in by his _friendship_ and _mentorship.”_ Samantha said, while making air-quotes all the while. 

“I was just coming up with a solution that I thought kind of made sense.” Richtofen muttered, waving away the various devices in the room. “So, what is exactly your plan of action now?”

Samantha frowned, and then leaned forward in her seat. “I’m going to find Peck, and hopefully have more success with him than I did with Aldrich.”

“Well, you have fun with that. In the meantime, I will be here, running Amazon, continuing my plan to dominate the world in a manner that _doesn’t_ involve nuking all of Europe...and possibly much more, because some of the things that Perseus has been working with are definitely not related to that whole Operation Greenlight business.” Richtofen said. “Oh, and I’ll help dismantle Perseus’ network from the safety of my comfy Amazon office, seeing as I’m not exactly my Primis or Ultimis incarnations. Don’t have that psycho killer instinct anymore.”

“Probably for the best, considering what happened with those two previous lives of yours.” Samantha said, and stood up to leave. “If you come up with something, let me know.”

“I will.” Richtofen said, morphing back into his Jeff Bezos persona with a snap of his fingers. “Miss Koberstein will show you the way out. And do take care Sammy.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Samantha said, as he opened the door and walked her out of his office.

_I hope Sunstone’s having better luck at hunting Perseus than I am._

//

**_Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time_ **

**_“Bell” - CIA Special Activities Division, Ex-KGB_ **

**_West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 14, 1981_ **

“I feel like someone is seriously disappointed in me right now.”

“Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down?” Helen said, as you and her walked next to each other, not quite hand-in-hand, but very much together. The two of you wandered along the shopping district of West Berlin, mingling with the crowd and wandering around, enjoying the fresh European air and sunshine. “But if I had to take a stab at it, I would put good money on Hudson. Despite what you may think, _from the bottom of my ass_ is not a compliment. Unless you have an arse fetish.”

“My name isn’t Frank Woods.” You said, eliciting a laugh from the Englishwoman. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress and sunhat, which looked lovely when contrasted against her raven hair, and well, you were you, with all the fashion sense (or lack thereof, if Adler had anything to say about it) that entailed. You looked nice, stylish, actually, but you wouldn’t have said you matched up to Helen in the looks department. 

“No, no it’s not. You’re not wearing the bandana. Which actually is a nice look, but I prefer other looks on you. Ones that don’t make you look like a counter-culture icon with an attitude.” Helen said, and you flushed slightly at the compliment. “You know, we could do some shopping, get you kitted out properly. Put it on the _mission expenses_ tab.”

“I could get behind that idea, but I think we should save the shopping towards the end of our day, seeing as I don’t think you would fancy lugging around bags for however long we’re gonna be out here.” You observed.

“Who said anything about me carrying ‘em? I’d make you do all the legwork!” Helen said, and you laughed, clapping your hands together slowly. “Gotta work on your strength exercises, Bell. Lifting bags of clothes and other knick-knacks will be good for you.”

“Sure, but only if you’re the one paying.” You offered, turning towards Helen and, on an instinct, winking. “Wouldn’t be a fair deal otherwise.”

“Mm, technically Adler’s the one footing the bill.” Helen said, as the two of you came to a crosswalk and patiently waited with a few stragglers for the light to turn green. “Though I’d certainly be happy to do the transactions. If you hand the receipt to him, of course. It’ll be fun to see how high his eyebrows can get when we show him how much we blew on clothes.” 

“Ooh, then we have a deal!” You said, giving Helen a double-thumbs up. She gave it right back, the two of you sharing a warm smile before crossing the street, subconsciously holding hands as you went so for some reason you couldn’t fathom. 

_Hold my hand when we cross the street, Sunstone, so you won’t lose your way._

Your eyes flicked about for a moment, an odd sense of nostalgia wandering into your head and taking up residence as you reached the other side of the street with Helen and let go of her hand, your fingers running along her palm before the two of you properly separated. Fortunately for you, Helen didn’t notice your silence, as she unwittingly broke it by way of pointing at a nearby ice cream stand. “Fancy a refreshment, Bell?” She asked, turning to you, and you nodded.

“I would certainly not turn down a treat.” You said, shifting your arm slightly as Helen linked it with yours and pulled you over to the stand, the two of you making quite the amusing sight as you made your way to the ice cream stand, the guy manning it giving you an _oh look, a couple_ kind of look as Helen, one hand on her sunhat, flashed him a smile.

“Hello there, we’d like two cones, please!”

“Flavors?” The man asked, looking to you first. You stared at the menu, felt a small jolt along your back as one particular flavor suddenly stood out in vibrant fashion to you, and then spoke.

“I’ll take the French Style Double Chocolate, please.” You remarked, prying your eyes away from the menu with extreme difficulty, putting on a smile and a cheery look as you were soon provided with what you asked for.

“Neopolitan.” Helen said, when the man’s vision turned to her. She too, was gifted with a cone full of the ice cream in question, and the money required was promptly handed over to the man. Transaction over, you and Helen walked off, ice cream in hand and smiles on your faces. 

“Fan of the classics, I see.” You noted, biting into your ice cream and moaning pornographically as the rich, tasty flavor flooded your mouth. Helen giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at the face you were making as you had the sweetest thing you could’ve possibly ever had since being shot like five times in Trabzon.

“Well, what can I say, I like having it all.” Helen said, taking a bite of her own ice cream, licking her lips in a flamboyant fashion for emphasis. “Three flavors all at once, it’s quite the deal, you gotta admit.”

“Hm, maybe I should’ve gotten an extra cone.” You said, as you and Helen came to overlook one of the rivers crossing the city. It was a beautiful sight, the skyline contrasted against the water, and you felt glad that she was there to experience it with you. Turning towards her, admiring the way the sun framed her beautiful face, you gestured with your free hand at her ice cream. “Could’ve traded, maybe done some partner analysis or whatever they call it in chemistry class.”

“Easy enough to do.” Helen said, and she held out her ice cream cone to you, holding the circular chunk of Neopolitan just in front of your mouth. “You bite mine, I bite yours?”

“That sounds...filthy. I like it.” You said, leaning in to take a bite of the tri-colored ice cream. Helen watched you the whole time, blue eyes twinkling in the light as you took a mouthful of sugary-sweet-strawberry cream into your mouth. Subconsciously, you offered up the ice cream you had chosen for her, but because you were a bit distracted by Helen’s blue irises, your wrist wobbled, the cone shaking slightly, and the ice cream began to tumble out of the cone and towards her sundress-

Helen’s free hand twitched ever so slightly.

-and then went right back to where it had been, securely held within the confines of the chewy confectionery rather than being a little bit wobbly. Swallowing the ice cream you’d been working on when you’d had the scare of the day, you gave Helen a relieved smile. “Well, _that_ would’ve been some bad luck.” 

“I suppose it would’ve.” Helen said, leaning in to take a bite of your ice cream, which you freely, relievedly offered to her. “But one thing you need to know-” She said, around a mouthful of intensely chocolate cream. “-is that holding the cone is all in the wrist.” She winked at you, swallowing her mouthful of ice cream, before darting in for another. “I think I like this flavor. I like it very much.”

“Oh, we’re so gonna grab seconds when we’re through here.” You said, taking the liberty to grab another bite of Helen’s ice cream cone. “Maybe spend every afternoon running through all the flavors the stand has to offer?”

“A lovely plan of action.” Helen murmured as she inadvertently took the rest of your ice cream, giggling as you faux-pouted at her. 

“I was gonna eat that.” You said, watching amusedly as she took the cone between her teeth and proceeded to eat that too, clearly having fun stringing you along.

“Not anymore you’re not…” Helen teased, and you smirked, then retaliated by finishing off her own ice cream, cone and all. 

“That makes us even.” You breathed, eliciting a soft giggle from Helen.

“I’ll concede that it does...though you’ve still got a bit on your face.” She said, and you instinctively made to wipe it off, only for her to lean in. “I’ve got this.” She murmured, saying your name as she went, before she dove in, pecking her lips against your cheek, tongue flaring slightly and snagging that last errant bit of ice cream that she’d been pointing out just a moment before.

You blushed, fiercely.

“W-well, you’ve got some ice cream on you too!” You stammered, before leaning in and lightly brushing your lips against the left side of Helen’s, nabbing the ice cream in question. It wasn’t much, but just enough for her to notice when you pulled back, mischief in your eyes. 

“My my, you’re being cheeky today-” Helen said, your name tumbling from her lips once more. You liked that, you really did. 

“I’m learning from the best there is on that subject.” You said, cocking your hip at her. “And I enjoy spending time with her. Englishwoman, about your height, beautiful blue eyes, lovely voice, amazing personality...sound familiar?”

“What a coincidence, it sounds just like me!” Helen exclaimed, a smile dancing across her face. “And _I_ thoroughly enjoy every second I spend with someone who just happens to match your description. Got a twin?”

“No, so I’m afraid I’ll have to do!” You chimed. “Apologies if I’m disappointing you…”

“Oh, you could never.” Helen said, her accent lilting with her voice. “You are very much what I like to see.” Then, on an impulse, Helen reached out, and took both your hands, drawing you close. “Mind if I see it in closer detail?” She asked, stealing your breath away as your heart raced, your colorful eyes gazing into Helen’s blue ones.

“I certainly don’t…”

And whatever else you had to say was lost to the Aether as your lips met Helen’s, soft and sweet. The kiss was just a little bit clumsy, but warm and reassuring all the same, and you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the moment, gently deepening the lip-lock, feeling Helen do the same. The two of you held the kiss for a few seconds longer, before breaking it off.

“I…” You breathed, and then Helen kissed you again.

“I _like_ kissing you.” She said, flashing you a smile, and you couldn’t help but softly laugh, your voice warm and bright as you leaned into Helen, proving that the third time was the charm as you gave her a kiss of your own. 

“I like kissing you too.”

//

Prosthetic arm gripping his coffee mug a bit more tightly than was advised, Adler watched.

From his vantage point on the cafe he was frequenting at the moment, he watched as Helen and Bell got _sickeningly_ sweet with one another, sharing ice cream, and then kissing each other. He supposed it was inevitable, having told Helen to spend time with Bell to keep them under control, but he was still a bit disappointed that she hadn’t _kept it professional._ The inability of her to fulfil that simple tenet had made his black-and-gold metal fingers press down on the ceramic of the mug a little more, causing minute cracks to manifest in the handle. He really should’ve expected better from her. Up until now, she’d been reliable, dependable, solid, _professional,_ but put one ex-KGB Soviet soldier in front of her and she turned into a lovestruck schoolgirl. 

_What are you playing at, Helen?_

She had spent quite a bit of time with Bell during their time under MK-Ultra, taking over when Adler hadn’t been there, simply holding their hand and talking to the semi-conscious, drugged up ex-KGB operative. He hadn’t been able to figure out what it was she’d been telling Bell, because she’d always locked him out of the room whenever that happened, and seeing as they stood on fairly even ground, he couldn’t really do anything about it. But he imagined that somehow, someway, she’d implanted a subconscious desire to gravitate to her within Bell. That, or Bell _genuinely_ liked Helen, in which case that was a worrying sign that more of Bell’s original persona had survived the brainwashing intact.

And if Bell found out the truth... 

No, that wouldn’t happen. Sipping his coffee and narrowing his eyes beneath his sunglasses, Adler called upon the Force, taking his disappointment and channeling it into the mystical field. There was no need for him to call upon the Dark Side just yet, as tempting as it might’ve been to release his frustration at this turn of events in a more _entertaining_ fashion. He supposed that he had gotten what he wanted, and that was Bell being controllable. Just not in the precise manner that he would’ve preferred, but as long as the trigger phase worked, then he was content to let Helen and Bell be, and if the others--namely Hudson, who had only _slightly_ warmed up to Bell after their minor freakout over Hué City, had problems with it, he would step in and bring them back into line. 

For purely pragmatic reasons, of course.

For one, it wouldn’t do to antagonize Helen, she was, after all, one of the more valuable foreign assets he’d worked with. Pissing her off would piss off the Crown in turn, and that would make joint operations in MI6’s stomping grounds a lot harder for him. Secondly, if he put any undue pressure on Bell, it would make taking them out of the equation once their part in this operation was over a lot harder, especially seeing as they were under the impression that he was their good, if slightly aloof, friend. For a third, he was fairly certain that Helen and Bell’s newfound relationship was destined for failure, _especially_ if and/or when the truth about how involved Helen had been in brainwashing Bell came out. But the most important reason, which Adler kept to himself and would continue keeping to himself unless it was absolutely necessary to divulge, was rather simple.

Try as she might to hide it, Russell E. Adler, Dark Lord of The Sith, knew that Helen Amara Park was a Jedi Master, and he had enough enemies already.

//

**_Somewhere On The Road_ **

“Are we there yet?”

“No.” Woods said, driving along the highway to hell, which it wasn’t, but it was certainly sounding like it, because that was the only explanation for a cassette tape that had played nothing but _Funkytown_ on a loop all goddamn drive long. Kiev was a long way’s off, but they would get there...if he didn’t murder everyone in the car and then himself.

“Are we there _yet?”_

 _“No.”_ Woods said once more, wondering if it would count as manslaughter or justifiable homicide if he crashed the car. Maybe murder-suicide. It would be worth it, just to get Bulldozer to shut up-

 _“Are we there yet?”_ Mason asked, joining in from the backseat, causing Woods to finally freak out after four straight hours of hearing that damnable question.

_“For fuck’s sake-”_

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helen is just so damn fun to write.


	9. One Step Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing catch up. Or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's five AM I haven't slept in like a while and uhhhhhhh apologies if this one's a little weird I just kinda sorta don't care about much of anything anymore.
> 
> Note to future-maybe sober self: Update this later. Maybe. If things get better. who cares i don't.

//

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 15, 1981_ **

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning, _Sapphire.”_ You said, stretching and working out the kinks in your frame. “Sleep well?”

“After last night’s activities, of course I did.” Helen said, smirking, her hair draped chaotically over her face, but the smile on her face no less visible to you. “I had a wonderful time with you, going all ‘round town, seeing the sights, coming back here, falling into bed…”

“...and passing out from exhaustion almost immediately.”

“What can I say? You wear me out in the best ways.” Helen said, tapping your nose affectionately. “Didn’t know you couldn’t dance. Had a lot of fun teaching you that one, and on a crowded floor too! Thankfully you didn’t injure anyone too badly.”

“Dancing is one thing my mom never managed to impart on me, unfortunately. Which is weird because she’s a fantastic dancer.” You conceded, shuddering as a burst of cold air swept over you and Helen, making you instinctively duck beneath the covers. 

“Goddammit that window’s loose again.” Helen muttered. “And now I don’t wanna get up, because it’s warm and cozy-”

Singing a song about sweatshirts, Lazar, wearing nothing but his boxers, went on by.

“-and now I will get up because there’s no coming back from that kind of a sight.” Helen said, and you couldn’t help but blink your eyes and stare at her in some desperate attempt to get _that_ sight out of your head.

“Yeah, yeah. I agree.”

//

**_One Step Behind_ **

**_Alex Mason - CIA Special Activities Division_ **

**_Kiev, USSR - Europe_ **

**_February 15, 1981_ **

“Are we there yet-”

“God fucking motherfucking shitfucking dammit, _yes,_ we’re here!” Woods shouted, screeching the car to a halt. “Welcome to Kiev, kiddos! Now get out of my damn car!”

“Technically it’s not your car.” Mason said, as he climbed out. “It’s the car Sims got for us because he’s the only one in the entire Anti-Perseus Task Force...god we need a better name, who can balance a checkbook on the first try.”

“Hey, I can do it in three or less!” Woods said, smacking him on the back. “Now go and grab your gear, we got a job to do.”

“...I can balance the checkbook on the first try.” Weaver said.

“No one asked you, Pirate-Boy.” Woods clipped.

“That’s _Sir_ Pirate-Boy to you.” Weaver postured, putting his hands on his hips. 

“I think we need a mutiny around here.” Mason muttered, heading to the trunk and pulling out his trusty M16. He’d had to fix up the thing quite a bit after the crash in Trabzon, and he’d only recently gotten it back online. Loading and cocking it, he took a look down the scope to make sure it was properly calibrated.

“Everyone ready?” Woods asked.

“Duh.” Weaver said, climbing back into the car. “Have fun in there.” He said, breaking out a tablet and pulling up schematics. “I’ll have the car on standby for emergency exfil, and if you need me to come in and save the day, just scream into the comms or something.”

“I fail to see how one guy is gonna turn the tide if we’re being overwhelmed.” Baker said.

“I’m full of surprises.” Weaver said, before waving dismissively at the group. “Now go, enjoy your little outing and let me listen to Ariana Grande in peace.”

“Wait, I thought I was on comms.” Bulldozer said, looking confused. In response, Weaver shrugged.

“You have two options, justify loading all that gear of yours into the car, or sitting here and listening to Ariana Grande.” Weaver said, giving the man a sly smile. 

“Suiting up now.” Bulldozer declared, grabbing his things out of the trunk.

“Everyone else ready?” Mason asked.

“Just about.” Zeyna replied, giving him a long, lingering look as she drew her weapon of choice--a Type 63, with a scope, silencer, and what looked to be a seriously customized set of mods that no doubt would make the weapon as accurate and powerful as a personal, miniaturized Death Star. Or at least acceptable enough to get the job done, which was functionally the same thing.

“Okay, _now_ I’m ready.” Wyatt said, having pulled out a minigun. It was large, bulky and heavy, and as he put it on the car hood, the _thump_ of the heavy metal got the attention of Woods, Mason, Baker and Zeyna. “This is Gretchen.” Bulldozer said, gesturing at the portable cannon. “She fires standard 7.62x51 millimeter NATO rounds at twelve-hundred rounds per minute. It costs twelve dollars to fire this weapon for four-hundred thousand seconds.” 

“Yeah I’m pretty sure that ain’t accurate.” Baker said, cocking his sniper rifle--a custom-built Barrett .50 BMG, which was quite possibly living proof that every now and then, the Good Lord dispensed with working in mysterious ways in favor of going with the direct approach of gifting a servant of his will with the “Bitchkiller 9000”. Inclining his head at the alley entrance, Baker continued on. “So, we gonna stand around and admire our guns, or are we gonna get in there and figure out what the hell _Waypoint Six_ means?”

“Both?” Bulldozer asked.

“Both.” Zeyna said, admiring Mason’s rifle with a keen, engineering-influenced eye. The man did well with making sure the weapon had been taken care of over the years, and she was impressed. 

“Both.” Woods concluded, Commando in hand, before pointing at Mason. “This is your show, pal. Lead the way.”

“Copy that.” Mason said, leading the five-man team down the alley. “Fire only if fired upon. Until then let’s keep this as quiet as we can.”

“What’s the target, boss?” Zeyna asked, sweeping her Type 63 in all directions as they moved down the dark streets on the outskirts of Kiev.

“Unknown, besides it being the warehouse.” Mason said in response, as the warehouse that the manifest from Trabzon had so helpfully pointed out loomed off just a little ways away. As the team reached the front door, they moved into a breaching position, Mason and Woods at the front, Zeyna covering them, Bulldozer ready to move in, and Baker covering the rear. “Ready?” 

“Ready.” Woods said, kicking the door in and moving inside, sweeping his Commando from one spot to another in rapid fashion. “Clear!” Moving in, Zeyna covering him the whole time, Mason lead Bulldozer and Baker inside, and then lowered his rifle as he saw the entry room was clear...albeit with a blood splatter across the wall by what appeared to be the receptionist’s desk. 

“That can’t be good.” Zeyna said, checking it out, before taking a step back in surprise. “Mason, we have a body.” She said, gesturing at the corpse in question with her rifle. “Someone opened his throat from one end to the other.”

“Let’s see.” Mason replied, peering over the side of the desk. “...wow, someone _really_ had it out for him.” The corpse’s face was frozen in an expression of surprise, blood everywhere. “When did this sorry soul depart this Earth?”

“If I had to guess, sometime between the Tonight Show and the Today Show.” Baker said, holstering his rifle so as to better cross his arms as he appraised the corpse of the rather unlucky fellow in front of him. “Doesn’t seem like we’ll be finding answers from him, huh?” 

“Best to search the body.” Mason said, as he began to do just that. “Never know if there’s something there of use.” He searched pocket after pocket, until he found a key, with the number seven stamped on it. Tossing it to Zeyna, he got up and walked around the side. “Let’s keep looking ‘round the place, folks.”

“Mason, over here!” Woods said over the comms, and doing so, the CIA agent followed the waypoint that his husband set up. Passing by a break room that held three bodies sprawled all about--evidently nothing of note, if the lack of either Woods or Bulldozer was any indication, he moved on, until he reached Woods’ position and found a large storeroom, with a number of crates--all ransacked, apparently, and bodies everywhere.

“What the hell happened here?” 

“Someone-” Bulldozer began, holding his minigun in one hand. “-killed everyone in the room.”

“Apparently singlehandedly.” Baker said, kneeling next to one of the bodies. “Seems like they were ambushed, whoever killed them clearly caught them by surprise.”

“Except for this one.” Woods said, stepping out from behind a stack of crates, and Mason took in the bloody smear that led behind the boxes in question. “Whoever our assailant was, he didn’t kill one of them. Poor bastard dragged himself to the phone, probably to call the cops, and was caught and executed at point-blank range. It’s _not_ a pretty sight.”

“These aren’t bullet wounds.” Zeyna surmised. “Looks like this was the work of an energy weapon.”

“Who the hell has the resources to get their hands on one of those?” Woods asked. “We’re special forces with government funding, and _we_ don’t have energy weapons.” 

“Just because those weapons are extremely expensive doesn’t mean they’re impossible to get their hands on.” Zeyna said. “Given what Arash was smuggling, it’s entirely possible that he was dealing in energy weapons, and someone got their hands on them and used them to kill all the people in here.”

“But why? They look like they were just normal warehouse workers.” Baker questioned, as he nudged one of the fallen. “If they didn’t know what was in the crates, then why kill them?”

“A good question, if only we had an answer.” Woods said.

_“Mason…”_

Turning around, Mason heard his name be called once more, and he walked away from the quietly debating group, following the familiar cadence. “Reznov?” He asked, following the voice of his long-fallen mentor around a fallen set of boxes. There, a small, locked crate with the number seven emblazoned on the padlock lay, and a spark of inspiration came to the man. Bringing out the key he’d taken from the dead guy in the front room, he pushed it into the padlock, and with a click-clunk, the case opened up-

-and revealed a cell phone.

“Well, that was kind of disappointing.” Mason said, as he picked it up and flipped it open. The calls were empty, unfortunately, but the messages section on the other hand…

“Guys, I think we have a lead on Volkov.”

//

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 15, 1981_ **

“Thanks, Mason.”

Getting off the phone with the CIA Operative, Adler stepped out of his office and clapped his hands together, immediately getting the attention of everyone in the room. “Alright people, listen up!” He shouted. “Mason just commed, he found a cell phone with messages sent to Volkov. Apparently the man plans on being in East Berlin next week, on the twenty-second.”

“That gives us a pretty good window to prepare to apprehend him, then.” Sims said. “Of course the problem is that we’re on the _wrong_ side of the Berlin Wall, so we can’t just simply wander on in and say hello on that day.”

“I have an idea.” Hunter said, walking over with a newspaper and gesturing at the ad on the back. “Get into civilian gear, pose as regular, run of the mill travelers, use the U-Bahn, infiltrate the city that way.”

“Did Mason say anything further?” Hudson asked, joining the conversation, and Adler nodded.

“Volkov is meeting with someone named Franz Kraus.” He said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“I know that name.”

All eyes fell upon Helen, who looked nonplussed at the attention. “MI6 has kept tabs on him, he’s a small fish, nothing too harmful in the greater context, but he’s good at causing trouble in his little corner of the world.” 

“And given how far his influence is, it makes sense that Perseus would use local couriers.” Kwan said. “To do anything else would be impractical, and bad for security if one were to be compromised.”

“Just like we’re going to be doing soon enough.” Lazar said, coming up on Helen’s right.

“How dangerous is he?” Bell asked, instinctively flanking her, not-so-subtly getting between her and Lazar. Adler noted the movement, and looked at Sims, who, situated just out of Bell’s sight, shrugged. 

_Romantics._

“Against us, not really, but in comparison to the average layman, he’s pretty dangerous.” Helen mused. “He’s ex-Stasi, so he knows his way around a gun and he’s got the will to kill, but he’s not a battle-hardened bloodthirsty commando like just about everyone in the Anti-Perseus-”

“-Task Force. We get it, Park, he’s a step up from the usual gun-toting Communist, step-down from the bloodthirsty maniacs serving Perseus directly.” Hudson said, cutting Helen off. Adler frowned slightly at the man’s interruption, but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“If Volkov is meeting with Kraus, then the solution is to follow Kraus.” Hunter interjected, turning to Helen. “You yourself said he doesn’t travel when the sun’s out, so with that in mind, he’ll probably have Kraus do most of the legwork.”

“Now we just have to figure out where _Kraus_ will be walking about on the day of the meeting.” Adler said. “And that’s up to us to determine.” 

“I have a contact in Berlin. She can help us find Kraus’ patterns.” Hudson clipped. “Can you guys come up with a workable infiltration plan?”

“Absolutely.” Sims said. “I can score us tickets to ride the U-Bahn on the day of the meeting.” 

“How many tickets?” Bell asked.

“Well, they’ve updated the system, so there’s now an upper limit per group.” Hunter said, gesturing at the newspaper once more. “In theory, Sims could get enough for the whole APTF to come along, but the problem is that we’d be flagged by security for being such a large group.”

“So we go in small groups, then.” Helen said. “Pair up, stagger dates and times. Go in piecemeal, then assemble on the day of the meeting.”

“Excellent idea.” Adler said. “Bell, Park, pack your things. Sims, score them tickets on the U-Bahn.” A hand--clutching a cigarette, because _of course,_ gestured at the frankly surprised duo. “I’m glad you two get along so well, because you’re gonna be spending a week in Berlin together, just the two of you.” Bell and Helen looked at one another, seemingly shocked, and then back to Adler, who winked at them.

“What can I say except, _you’re welcome?”_

//

**_Two Minutes Later, Adler’s Office_ **

“Giving her a week alone with Bell? _Are you_ _out of your mind?”_ Hudson demanded.

“Possibly.” Adler said.

//


	10. From Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the author wanted to remind everyone that Perseus gets probably more lines here than in the game.

//

“Doctor William Peck?”

“Yes, and who are-” Doctor William Peck froze in his sentence, his voice trailing off as the man who stood before him _imposed_ simply by existing. “-you?”

“You can call me a friend.” Said Kapono “Naga” Vang. “Gather your research and pack only the essentials. We’re leaving the country. You have fifteen minutes.”

“But, there is so much left to do-” Peck began, only for the man to put his hand on what looked to be a very nasty looking firearm.

”You have two options, either you do what I say, and come away with me to a better place, or you _don’t_ do what I say, and I leave you to face the mercies of a frankly demented woman who at this very moment, is on her way to very politely ask you a few questions.” He tilted his head, the light glinting off of his sunglasses in a menacing fashion.

“What’s it gonna be, Doc?”

//

**_From Shadows_ **

**_Vikhor “Stitch” Kuzmin / Darth Nightblade - The Sith Order_ **

**_Location Unknown_ **

**_February 15, 1981_ **

“Come in.”

The door opened, and the man known as Perseus turned to greet his visitor. “Stitch!” He said, voice warm and light. “How are you, my friend?”

“I’m doing well, Master.” Said the Sith Lord, the dark-robed man dropping to one knee and bowing his head in deference to the ancient evil that stood before him. “How fares the Grand Plan?”

“The Grand Plan is proceeding as foreseen.” Perseus said, beckoning for Stitch to get up. “I must admit, I am impressed by your decision to take agency with the matters related to Aldrich and Volkov. Their usefulness had come to an end, and to keep them about would have opened up too many loose ends.”

“Indeed.” Stitch conceded, his good eye flitting about, scanning the room instinctively. “Aldrich was a weak link that would’ve broken had he been apprehended, and Volkov is a tool, nothing more. He will soon be taken care of, my Master.”

“So I have heard.” Perseus noted, turning about, waving his hand and creating a holographic board with the mobster’s face upon it. “Soon, he will be in East Berlin, and Adler’s little team will remove him from the equation.” He created another photograph, this time of an Englishwoman that Stitch wasn’t quite familiar with.

“Helen Amara Park is the key to Volkov’s fall.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the name, Master.” Stitch said, and Perseus chuckled.

“Of course you wouldn’t be, she is an enigma, even to the best of our spies. But I am so much more powerful than the little children playing in the sandbox that is the universe, and so few secrets remain locked away.” He said.

“But...with Aldrich’s death, surely we do not have any agents within the CIA? His spy network is extensive, but-” Stitch began, pausing when Perseus raised a hand.

“Aldrich was not our only source within the American’s intelligence services. He was the only one you _knew_ of.” Said Perseus, in a tone of voice like a teacher clarifying a point. “Another, much more well-placed source, gave me the information necessary to begin properly manipulating the _Anti-Perseus Task Force,_ as the Americans call their little joint operation with NATO.” He chuckled. “Such a lengthy name, unwieldy and yet, somehow fitting, it is the closest they will ever get to me.” Lowering his hand, he inclined his head at the profile photo hovering before them.

“As mentioned, Helen Park is the key to Volkov being removed from the equation.” Perseus said. “She has hunted him obsessively for years, always coming close, but never quite managing to grab him.” He chuckled. “Her persistence is admirable, were she more...temptable, I would have swayed her to our cause. Alas, her _Jedi_ teachings prevent her from being anything more than a paragon of virtue and glory.”

“A Jedi…” Stitch growled, the mere mention of his hated foe making his blood boil. “...I will kill her myself.”

“And perhaps you will.” Perseus said. “But for now, we must allow her to ah, _do us a service,_ shall we say?” He flicked his hand, and Volkov’s image appeared once more. “After all, her vendetta against Volkov is rather personal.”

“How so?” Stitch asked.

“Why my dear Stitch, at my orders, Volkov killed her brother.”

“...ah.” Stitch said, after a pause. “May I ask why, Master?”

“She believes it was random-” Perseus began. “-a simple car bombing meant to kill another target, and indeed there _was_ another target who was conveniently close by when we killed him. But her brother was always the true target. He was rising up into the ranks of the Special Air Service, he was much too dangerous to be left alive.” Perseus grinned, clenching a fist for emphasis. “While her _Jedi ways_ have kept her from truly slipping to the dark and becoming truly vulnerable to our manipulations, it _did_ give us the thread we need to pull in order to divide Adler’s strike force.”

“How so?” Stitch asked, now beginning to understand exactly why Helen hated Volkov so much. If only she were more easily tempted, then he would’ve sought her out and made her his apprentice. Why Adler had not yet done so was beyond him, perhaps the man had some other game at hand with regards to the Englishwoman.

“The British government has long been interested in capturing Volkov alive, and Helen is fiercely loyal to the Crown. Every mission she has undertaken, the parameters set forth by MI6 have been followed to the absolute letter, with no deviations. But as Volkov is a _personal_ foe…” 

“...her loyalties will be divided between revenge and her orders.” Stitch finished, and Perseus nodded.

“Indeed, my friend.” He said. “This conflict of interests will surely push her in an interesting direction. If she captures Volkov, her anger over failing to take true vengeance against her brother’s killer will fester, perhaps making her more amenable to your...suggestions once the two of you meet. If she kills him, she will be pushed far closer to the Dark Side, and you can intervene, perhaps take her as your apprentice and turn her against Adler.”

“And what of the others in Adler’s strike force?” Stitch asked.

“They are of concern, of course, but out of focus until after the Volkov situation is resolved. That said, I would never discount a threat, no matter how small and insignificant it is.” Perseus paused, and took a breath. “After all, it was _mere mortals_ who brought me to my knees the first time around. I have no intention of underestimating humanity ever again. Once was quite enough.”

“Of course, Master.” Stitch said.

“Now, as for the other threats…” Perseus waved his hand, and photos of the other members of Adler’s strike force appeared. Stitch nodded his head in approval, whoever this other source was, they had gotten quite the details on these people. Far more than Aldrich had managed to get him, and the man had been in the lion’s den, so to speak. “...Adler aside, Alex Mason and Frank Woods are the most dangerous of the lot. They killed Dragovich and Steiner and set the Grand Plan back by decades through their destruction of the Nova Six Network. Thankfully Kravchenko still lives-”

Stitch growled and clenched a fist, the Darkness around him pooling like blood.

“-calm yourself, comrade. The time will come to take vengeance upon Kravchenko, but for now he is necessary to the Grand Plan.” Perseus said, and Stitch forced himself to calm down. “As I was saying, Mason and Woods are the most prominent threats. Woods is fueled by an anger that simultaneously consumes him and lends him strength, were he receptive to the Force’s call, that rage alone would make him an excellent Sith, but Mason...he is _charmed._ His determination and his willpower alone make him perhaps the most dangerous of the duo, but it is the guardian angel who intervenes on his behalf that makes him much more unpredictable in the field.”

“Viktor Reznov.” Stitch said. “It seems his death at Vorkuta was not the end.”

“Indeed it was not.” Perseus replied. “While everyone else within Mason’s inner circle--even Woods himself, denies that Reznov exists and claims that Mason is simply interacting with a mere hallucination, you and I know better. During his time in Vorkuta, Mason was _touched_ by a power greater than humanity could ever hope to comprehend, and so Reznov continues to aid him from beyond the grave.” He paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. “Of course, the limitation is that Reznov is tied to Mason and can only manifest for short periods of time, but his intervention adds a variable we will have to account for in any encounters with the _Slayer of Dragovich.”_

“What of the others?” Stitch questioned, gesturing at the one-eyed Russian who served on the opposite side, the _wrong_ side. It felt like looking into a mirror, if he had to be honest. The man had lost an eye, just as he did, and they held Adler in common. Curious coincidences.

“The NATO operators called to Adler’s side are formidable, and hide talents of their own that they conceal behind the appearance of being _the best of the best,_ as they themselves claim. Unfortunately, our source has yet to properly gauge their abilities.” Perseus said. “But what we do know is that Fireteam Requiem, or the Requiem Division as they like to call themselves...are more dangerous than they appear to be. After all, one does not delve into the same field of work as the Omega Group without coming out untouched by what is real and unreal in equal measure.” He waved the images away. “But the threat of Kwan Song, John Baker, Jason Hunter, Wyatt Jones and Zeyna Ossou is something that can be contained within reasonable limits. It’s their leader that worries me.”

“Grigori Weaver?” Stitch asked. “By all reports he simply remains at a desk job, or operates at a secondary level in the field. He is a formidable combatant when pushed, but there is no indication that he’s anything but a simple special forces soldier who knows how to kill well.”

“You forget that he was there, when Dragovich fell.” Perseus corrected. “And a man like him...there is so much more to him than simply being a _good soldier.”_ The elder man took a deep breath. “Grigori Weaver hides his true power, and when we see it...we will not like the consequences.”

“And Adler’s other subordinates?” Asked Stitch, and Perseus shrugged.

“Formidable, but only human.” He said, waving up a new set of photos. “Lazar Azoulay and Lawrence Sims display nothing beyond the typical combat skills expected of talented soldiers...though Lazar does possess a level of physical acumen that exceeds all within the task force except for Wyatt Jones, and Sims is a sniper, talented beyond question, rivalled only by Baker, and of course, Mason and Woods when they deign to use such weapons. Thankfully, he wastes his talents behind a desk. It seems our work in Vietnam was rather instrumental to that, and for this I thank you, Stitch. It would not do to have someone with Sims' skill and the grudge necessary to back it up opposing us in an active fashion.”

“I live to serve, my Master.” Stitch said. “What of Hudson?”

“Technically Jason Hudson is an equal, and as such he’s not really a subordinate.” Perseus said. “He’s a formidable combatant, but as of recent he has taken to putting his managerial expertise to good use behind the scenes. It is his distrust of those not directly affiliated with the CIA that grants us leverage to pry away at Adler’s core team.”

“I would presume him being the head of Operation Greenlight also aids us on that front.” Stitch mused.

“That it does. From what our source has told us, Hudson is keeping Operation Greenlight under wraps, so if that could come out…” He smirked. “...chaos would erupt within the Anti-Perseus Task Force, everyone would take sides, torn between their loyalties to America or their native countries.” The smirk vanished a moment after. “Of course we cannot simply release materials related to Operation Greenlight to the public. No one would believe it...not unless the bombs were detonated.”

“And the Solovetsky installation is not yet ready.”

“No, of course it is not. Qasim giving away Trabzon and Arash giving away Kiev has greatly slowed down the construction of the Dark Towers.” Perseus said. “But those are temporary setbacks. The Waypoints in Verdansk and Duga are still operational, and we still have many other facilities across the world we can use to further the Grand Plan. The loss of an airfield and a warehouse are merely pinpricks of setbacks. Adler and his task force will not stop us.”

“What of the _last_ one?”

“Ah yes...the one they call _Bell.”_ Perseus frowned and walked over to a holographic representation of the one who was perhaps the most dangerous threat of them all. “A pity we did not discover their subterfuge sooner, and it is an even greater pity that Arash did not succeed in carrying out his orders once it _was_ discovered. But it is too late to try correcting that mistake.” 

“Given that an army has not appeared on our doorstep to challenge us, I assume that something is wrong with them?” Stitch asked.

“It is a reasonable assumption, I must admit.” Perseus said. “If I were to assume...and I do not assume, I _postulate,_ it is very likely that the injuries sustained in Trabzon keep _Bell_ from truly remembering all that they wished to relay to the Americans. Quite lucky for us, which is compounded by the reports gathered by my source. Apparently, Hudson decided to use MK-Ultra on them.” He laughed. “A rather quaint attempt at mind control, is it not?”

“Indeed, Master. There are far more sophisticated...and powerful, methods to take control of someone with.” Stitch concluded.

“That there are.” Perseus said. “As it stands, _Bell_ believes they are an ex-KGB operative who defected to the Americans. Partially true, but also very false. Apparently there is a trigger phase to keep _Bell_ in line and, if the working theory is correct, guide them in such a manner that they will eventually give up Solovetsky.” 

“Could we use the trigger phase ourselves?” Stitch asked, a spark of eagerness creeping into his voice.

“Doubtful. It seems coded to Adler alone, though as the reports mention that Helen Park was brought in to aid the process, it is possible that she also has that kind of power over _Bell.”_ Perseus sighed. “A pity they were a spy all along, were they genuine...think of the things we could accomplish together.”

“Wasted potential.” Stitch said, and Perseus nodded in agreement.

“Indeed.” He sighed and looked out towards the horizon beyond the windows. “Of course, it is not out of the possibility that _Bell_ may yet see the error of their ways and join our cause for real, but as long as _she_ lives, that is unlikely, and unless _she_ perishes at the hands of Adler or one of his subordinates, it is extremely unlikely we will be able to sway _Bell_ into joining us for real.”

“Helen Park?” Stitch asked, and Perseus shook his head, a note of fear entering his voice for the first time as he spoke.

“No...Samantha Maxis.”

//

**_Somewhere Else_ **

Samantha Maxis sneezed.

“Bless you.” Said the random, unnamed guard on duty, before it occurred to him that he was supposed to be alone.

_“What the fu-”_

And that was as far as he got before Samantha dispensed with subtlety and attacked him.

//


	11. Take On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, and crack. But mostly fluff. And crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is mentally not all there and very very VERY sleep deprived so if this whole thing reads like someone was bored/depressed/manic/whatever and wanted to see what would happen if you mash all these concepts together then uhhhhhhh yeah that's exactly what happened. 
> 
> Certain gaps in this chapter will be filled in by an upcoming chapter for Being Cheeky.

//

**_Take On Me_ **

**_Jedi Master Helen Amara Park - The Jedi Order_ **

**_The U-Bahn, East Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 16, 1981_ **

Humming a cheery, bouncy, repetitive tune called  _ Take On Me,  _ by a little-known band called a-ha, Helen Park gazed out the window.

It was just herself, and Bell, as it would be for the next week. As the train went on by a station that was clearly not it’s stop, Helen paused to recollect the details of the ongoing mission, which had been laid out and hastily recapped while she and her partner had packed their bags--just the essentials, and reviewed the fairly open-ended objectives that needed to be done before the others arrived the following week. 

_ Scout out East Berlin. _

_ Locate and gather intel on Franz Kraus. _

_ Find Volkov’s meeting place. _

Three fairly simple objectives, but simple only in that they didn’t exactly have anything tying them down. In turn, however, Bell and Helen would have to improvise just about everything  _ else  _ that needed to be done. They had a map of East Berlin, but where Kraus lived or where Volkov planned to meet was beyond the Anti-Perseus Task Force’s abilities to determine at the moment...which meant that it was up to Bell and Helen to fill in the gaps. 

The train rumbled as it began to approach it’s destination, and Helen broke off from her humming, tapping the figure sleeping next to her. “Wake up, Bell.” She said, and the ex-KGB operative jerked awake immediately, gasping loudly before looking around, instinctively scanning for threats. “Train’s slowing down, we’re coming to our stop.” Helen clarified, and Bell nodded, reaching silently for the bags the duo had packed. They hadn’t brought much, just their respective battle gear, civilian clothes and the essentials of living on the road, all concealed in specially-designed suitcases that looked casual at first glance, but were personally guaranteed by Sims himself to  _ get you through Fort Knox without a second glance,  _ which was the sort of standard the duo would need, seeing as “backup” was a concept completely impossible given the circumstances. Dressed warmly, the product of taking a late-night train, Helen and Bell got up from their seats and began mustering at the train’s exit.

“Hold my hand, Starlight.”

“Starlight?” Bell asked, looking at Helen with an amused glint in their eyes. “I like that name.”

“I’m glad you do, because I’m going to be calling you it a lot.” Helen murmured, her free hand’s fingers slipping around Bell’s and intertwining. The duo played the part of the happy couple rather convincingly as they walked off the train, and the best part was that it wasn’t an act at all. 

“I think Adler did us a huge favor, letting us have this week alone.” Bell said, arm-in-arm with Helen as they walked towards the checkpoint.

“He definitely did.” Helen conceded, shuddering as the rain--already spraying the city with torrents of water, upped the tempo for the fun of it. Bell leaned against her, trying to share what little body heat could be mustered with her. “If I had to guess, he probably picked us out because he likes Kwan’s cooking and wants to keep her around a little bit longer before sending in her and Lazar.”

“I think he’s just being a good wingman.” Bell said, their eyes gleaming slightly in the early morning light, courtesy of a streetlamp, before going quiet as they reached the checkpoint.

“State your names and business.” Went a bored guard, shining a flashlight in the duo’s faces. Bell squinted slightly and bared their teeth, but Helen-

-waved her fingers gently.

“We have special exemption from all security checks.” She said, smirking slightly, her expression faintly readable in the dim lighting.

“You have special exemption from all security checks.” The guard responded, suddenly monotone.

“We can go on our way.” Helen said, clearly amused.

“You can go on your way.” The guard puppetted, before waving them onward. Bell gave Helen a very confused look as they were allowed into the city proper.

“What was that?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve that come in handy.” Helen said. “Being very persuasive is one of them.” 

“What’d you do, give him the look the Queen of England gives Margaret Thatcher?” Bell asked, pushing open the door to the hotel the pair had chosen to take up residence in while they scouted out the city. Bell shook some of the water off of their jacket, and Helen stamped her feet on the welcome mat before pulling Bell forward, giving them a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Something like that.” Helen said, before walking up to the receptionist, and flashing them a bright, cheery smile. 

“Hello there! We’d like your most expensive room!”

“Cash or charge, Diamond Jim?” Bell questioned off to the side, as Helen brought out a card and handed it to the receptionist, who took it, did whatever the hell it was people did with those things, and then handed it back, along with a set of keys and the customary  _ enjoy your stay  _ quip in the most  _ Fake Happy _ tune ever. Heading up to the hotel room in question through the elevator, Bell turned and gave Helen an amused smirk.

“...you’re really enjoying this blank check, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you know it. If Adler’s gonna be footing the bill for this op, I’m gonna milk it for  _ all  _ it’s worth.” Helen said, unlocking the hotel room and ushering Bell inside, following. Closing the door with her foot, she opened up the lights, and nodded her approval at the accommodations. “Not bad, not bad at all, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll agree with that assessment.” Bell hummed, watching amusedly as Helen set her bags down, threw her rain jacket onto the coat rack, and then flopped onto the bed, moaning contentedly as she sank into the thing.

“Ooh, this is comfy.” She groaned, a saucy smile on her face as she faced Bell, who had just finished putting their rain jacket on the coat rack. “It’s also the only bed, so we’re gonna have to share, unless you want to fight for it, loser gets the floor-”

“Sharing!” Bell exclaimed, before pouncing on her.

//

**_CIA Safehouse E9, West Berlin - Europe_ **

“Food’s here, grab it while it’s hot!”

“Thanks Sims!” Lazar called out, opening up a box of Chinese food and taking the whole thing into his possession.

“Well, someone’s hungry.” Sims heckled, and Lazar shrugged. 

“So I am.” He said, sitting opposite the man, who had begun to dig into his own food. Adler, Hunter and Hudson joined the duo at the table, and the five men began to dig into the meal that Sims had so happily gotten for them. “Any word from the field teams?”

“What, you looking for your girlfriend?” Hunter asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lazar said swiftly, causing Sims to laugh.

“Bro, you can just tell us what we already know, you got a thing for Kwan and her amazing cooking.” The man gave him a thumbs up. “Ain’t nobody in this place gonna blame you for that.”

“Especially after I caught Mason and Woods doing it in my car.” Hudson muttered lowly. “I don’t even know how they found my keys.”

“But to answer your question-” Adler said, biting into some orange chicken. “-Mason and company are staying in Kiev for at least the next week, to sweep the area in hopes of finding any other leads on Perseus. As for Bell and Park, I would presume they’re still getting set up. Probably getting themselves a room in the nicest hotel.” He mused. “Thereby increasing mission expenses and no doubt making someone in the White House wonder what the fuck it is we’re doing out here.”

“Well, if they want us to hunt down a ghost no one’s seen ever since the incident in Vietnam, they shouldn’t complain when we need to use more resources than normal trying to dig it up.” Sims mused.

“That and, a government contract is basically a license to steal.” Hunter quipped, eliciting a small chuckle from Lazar. “Or at least that’s what my political science teacher told me.”

“Saving the world, one luxury hotel room at a time.” Sims added. “That is, if you're lucky enough to be sent into those ops. Which Bell and Park were.”

“I personally would’ve preferred we sent in a different team, but I respect the decision.” Hudson said after swallowing some of his food. “Agent Park is a capable operative, and Bell…” He trailed off for a moment. “...well, Adler’s  _ proven history  _ with them is good enough. For now.”

“You got a problem with my friend?” Adler asked, leaning forward in his seat. 

“I have a problem with trusting foreign assets to handle this delicate operation to apprehend Volkov with no oversight.” Hudson retorted, squaring up to Adler from his seat at the table.

“Relax, sir, they’re just scouting things out. How hard could it be?” Hunter asked, drawing Hudson’s ire over to him. “Come on, you yourself went out to check on Bell after they ran out of the room after recapping Operation Fracture Jaw. Give ‘em some slack, they’re not gonna do anything overly stupid.”

“He makes a good point.” Sims said. “Bell and I go way back, and I ain’t gonna stand for any smacktalk about ‘em. Sure, they might have been Red once upon a time, but hey, every now and then, you gotta be on the wrong side first to figure out where the good guys stand.” 

“Park is one of the guys, a true professional.” Lazar added. “Sure, she spends a lot more time with Bell than she does with the rest of us, but she works to the best of her ability and hasn’t let us down yet.”

“Well, seems like you’ve given me a lot to think about after breakfast.” Hudson said. “I appreciate the food for thought, we don’t exactly have much else to do while waiting for more intel to help move the APTF’s mission forward.”

“Oh, we really need to change that name.” Hunter muttered.

“Yeah, and would someone cover up Perseus’ face on the board while we eat? He’s staring at me and it’s kinda freaky.” Sims said. Adler sighed and shook his head fondly as the team promptly descended into amused bickering over Perseus’ aesthetics, including a spirited discussion on what his sex life was like. 

_ Maybe keeping it professional was asking too much out of this bunch. _

//

**_East Berlin_ **

“...oh, that was fun.”

“Yes, yes, absolutely.” Helen said, as Bell combed her hair. After  _ breaking in the bed,  _ so to speak, the duo had jumped into the shower, and found out the hard way that it did not, in fact, have unlimited hot water. But at least they were clean now, and they could safely relax and start to coalesce into the mission parameters...later, after a nice nap. They had been on the road for kind of a while, after all. “Pity the hot water didn’t last long enough for the second round.”

“It lasted long enough.” Bell mumbled, kissing her cheek and putting the comb down. “There, all done, nice and pretty once more.” 

“It’ll probably get messed up if we go for a third round.” Helen noted, returning the kiss. “But I appreciate your help in getting it back in order,  _ Starlight.” _

“Anytime,  _ Sapphire.”  _ Bell said. “I like helping you out.”

“We do work really well together.” Helen said, lying back in bed, pulling Bell down with her. “I make the plans, we execute the plans, fuck the plans up, and then you get us through them with your fancy improv.”

“What can I say, I learned from the best. My mother...and her sister. An aunt?" Bell trailed off, and for a moment, Helen felt a spike of concern. "That's odd, I thought I would remember her name. Fuck, maybe I'm more sleep deprived than I thought. I'm sure I'm forgetting at least a few other people in there somewhere."  


“It happens.” Helen said, grabbing a blanket and pulling it over the duo. “As long as we remember the names that are most important to us, that’s what matters.”

“Samantha.”

Freezing, and taking a long breath, Helen stared at Bell as they continued on. “My mother’s name is Samantha. She’s a beautiful woman, kind and smart and talented...but also sad.” Their eyes glimmered with a mix of solemn emotions. “She raised me in the countryside. A few people came on by every now and then to visit, but it was mostly just the two of us. We did really well, I think."  


“Just like me.” Helen said. “Grew up in an eighteenth-century Victorian home out in the English countryside. My parents, my brother and I.” She chuckled and drew Bell close, hearing the rain intensify outside, a flash of lightning briefly illuminating the room. “I’m the only one left, now. Mum and Dad passed on a few years ago, and my brother died when I was attending college at Oxford.” 

“...what happened?” Bell asked, and Helen sighed.

“Someone had it out for a guy he happened to be passing on the street. Car bomb went off while he was in the blast radius, and that was that. Dropped out of Oxford and went into the intelligence services right after, where I learned that it was Anton Volkov who’d ordered the bombing.” Helen said, causing Bell’s eyes to widen in the early morning light.

“Shit-” Bell began. “-I knew you wanted to get your hands on him, but I know it was this personal.”

“Well, it is.” Helen said. “Because of him, I lost my older brother. He’s gotten away from justice, from  _ me, _ all this time, and if we’re lucky, this week...I’ll finally have a chance to lay that ghost to rest.” She trailed off and hugged Bell a little tighter.

“What was his name?” Asked the ex-KGB operative.

“MacMillan. His name was MacMillan.”

Bell sighed, and hugged Helen, another flash of lightning illuminating the room and making the duo instinctively flinch from the sound of thunder. “I’m sure he’d be proud of the woman you turned out to be.” They said. “You’re strong and wise, Helen, and you’ve accomplished a great many things in your life. Any brother worth his salt would be proud of you. I’m sure he’s proud of you.” They said, giving her a tiny, reassuring smile.

“I hope he is.”

//

**_Somewhere Else..._ **

“Goddammit!”

Kicking a nearby desk over, scattering papers everywhere, Samantha groaned and sat down on the floor. Peck had gotten away in the chaos of her storming his office after botching her infiltration, by the time she’d reached it and smashed in his door, the man was long gone--and whatever it was of value he had been working on was now gone. Growling, Samantha waved her hand and uprighted the desk, the papers flying up, smoothening themselves out and placing themselves back on the desk. Putting Starfang on her back, she began looking through Peck’s papers, searching for anything of value. Unfortunately, most of the work was related to anything but what she was truly looking for, and the rest were merely scraps, not enough to necessarily work with. 

“Hello there.”

Turning around, Samantha inclined her head in polite greeting of the figure who stood in the doorway. “Hello there to you too, sis.” She said, voice weary. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I followed the screaming.” Said Yirina Portnova, striding into the room, a bemused expression writ upon her face. “I assume that whatever it is you’re here to do didn’t work out?” She asked, and Samantha nodded.

“I checked in with Eddie about that disc I pulled off of Aldrich back at Langley. Gave me a name, William Peck. I did my due diligence, and it led me here. Evidently, I wasn’t all too subtle. Or the first one to come after him.” She threw her hands up. “He must’ve been tipped off somehow, because he flew the coop. I’ve no idea where he is.”

“You’ll find him soon enough,  _ bol’shaya sestra.”  _ Yirina said, taking Samantha’s hand and giving her a reassuring smile. “Someone with his ego won’t be able to hide himself for long.” 

“I hope so. He’s the only remaining lead we have on Perseus. Unless we count  _ Sunstone’s  _ task force doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing over in Berlin and Kiev.” Samantha growled. “But enough of what we already know, how goes it on your side of things?”

“Oh, about the usual.” Yirina said. “Been doing my part to stem the tide, but I’m just one Pilot, and I’ve got just one Titan. And while the Omega Group isn’t necessarily a  _ big  _ organization, the fact that they’ve survived us razing Endstation and Firebase Z to the ground doesn’t really speak wonders about our odds on that front.”

“They’re the Soviet Government’s equivalent of the Requiem Division, it makes sense they wouldn’t give up so easily if they can harness the Aether to win the Cold War. To say nothing of whatever hand Perseus might have in their operation.” Samantha said. “But is it true, the rumors that are coming out of Moscow? About Kravchenko?”

Yirina nodded. “Belikov confirmed Kravchenko’s promotion to head of the Omega Group. They kind of needed a replacement, seeing as the last one was uh...strapped to the nuclear bomb that wiped out Firebase Z, courtesy of yours truly.”

“That was dramatic, truly it was.” Samantha said, smirking at her younger sister. “Dramatic, but effective. I like it.”

“Good, because the way we’re going, once we find where Perseus is hiding, we may have to escalate to  _ multiple  _ nuclear bombs.” Yirina said. “He’s  _ really  _ scared of you, isn’t he?”

“Well, after what I did to him last time…” Samantha said, trailing off and shrugging. “...he has his reasons to be afraid.”

“So he does.” Yirina said, before her wrist-mounted comm beeped. Tapping it twice, she spoke as soon as the hologram of the AI-controlled Titan manifested. “Yes, BT, what is it?”

“A convoy of armored vehicles is approaching the complex from the south. Intercepted radio transmissions suggest that they are Perseus operatives. I recommend preparing to engage the enemy.” At the words of her Titan, Yirina nodded and cut the comm.

“Alright Sis, what say we take out all our frustrations on this hapless group of morons no doubt sent to take care of Peck’s mess?” She asked. “Then come back and take all his stuff to Eddie?”

“I like the way you think, Yirina.” Samantha said, drawing Starfang. Yirina pointed at a nearby wall, and extending her hand, Samantha blew a hole in it, exposing the duo to the cool night air.

“Witness me!” Yirina shouted, running and throwing herself out of the building, just in time for BT-7274, her Titan, to leap out of the dark, safely snag her out of the air and enable her to embark. Samantha followed her sister out into the fray, landing next to the battle-ready Titan in a flash of purple dynamism, raising Starfang and settling into a fighting pose as Perseus operatives began to pile out of their vehicles, fear clearly visible in their eyes. Samantha laughed, her hands flaring purple, and then she and Yirina charged into the fray.  


“Hello, dead people!”

//


	12. Where The Lines Overlap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of decisions get reconciled into one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long story made short: I've been having a really really really really REALLY bad week due to stuff I won't talk about here. I took it out on my writing and it kind of shows. 
> 
> So I took a step back from writing. And then looked back, and reconciled everything so all my spur-of-the-moment decisions make sense in the context of a story that's definitely not the straightforward BOCW retelling. Among other things. 
> 
> For reference: Helen is wearing the Double Agent Park costume, becuase that's cuuuuute. Adler apparently goes around in the Gunslinger costume.

//

**_Maxis Residence_ **

**_Outside The Time-Space Continuum_ **

“Eddie.”

“Samantha, Yirina!” Edward Richtofen said, throwing his arms open. “So good to see you!” He chimed, grabbing both the redhead and the raven-haired ladies and pulling them into a hug. “Long time no see!”

“You saw me a couple days ago, Eddie.” Samantha deadpanned, an amused smile on her face.

“I was talking to Yirina.” Went the German man, before turning to the large Titan standing nearby. “And how are _you_ doing, BT? That amazing robot body I put together for you holding up fine?”

“It is, thank you, Doctor Richtofen.” Said BT, earning himself a _pfft_ noise from Richtofen.

“Please, it’s just Eddie. _Doctor Richtofen_ reminds me too much of my Ultimis self, and to say I’m not really fond of that time in my life is an understatement.” He said. “Though I am very proud of the Wunderwaffe.” He mumbled to himself.

“Acknowledged.” Rumbled the automaton.

“BT, stay out here and do whatever it is you feel like doing.” Yirina said. “Eddie, Sam and I have some things we need to discuss.”

“Oh, like that dead guy on the news?” Richtofen asked. “I was tempted to go and autopsy the body myself but Jeff Bezos isn’t a certified dead-body-ologist.”

“Actually, I was thinking more about a _living_ guy.” Yirina clarified, as the three sort-of-siblings took a set of seats at Samantha’s dining table. “William Peck, the _pretentious douchebag_ who reminds you too much about your Ultimis incarnation?”

“Ah yes, him.” Edward said. “I heard he hopped a private plane to Europe! What’s up with that?”

“We have a working theory, but not much other than that.” Samantha said. “The Omega Group has been in need of new talent, ever since most of it died in the _incidents_ at Projekt Endstation and Firebase Z, and not just because the weird things from the Id that they unleashed ate them. Evidently, William Peck was their preferred candidate for rebuilding the momentum the cause lost when Yirina nuked Firebase Z and half their leadership off the map.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Yirina said. “While I was doing that, Sam found out where Peck was and went to go grab him, but someone else got to him first. And to make matters more complicated, a certain mutual friend of ours sent in a task force to clean up Peck’s mess, but well, we handled that, grabbed what we could and that’s how we’re here now.”

“Peck took the essentials when he ran.” Samantha said, waving her hand and manifesting a number of folders and papers before the trio. Richtofen, in turn, waved _his_ hand and began sorting through the information at a speed faster than anyone mortal--save for perhaps Samantha, could ever hope to comprehend. “He left the rest behind, however. And that’s where you come in. You can decipher all of this, give us a lead on where he went, or at least an inkling of what it is that makes him so valuable to the Omega Group’s cause.”

“Well, from what I can decipher-” Richtofen said. “-he is a scientist whose brilliance is on par with my own. Of course _he_ never invented anything as fantastic as the Wunderwaffe--which I have recreated, by the way, or singlehandedly manipulated humanity into an endless cycle of death and rebirth that only stopped when we blew up the multiverse, but he’s close enough I can understand _why_ the Omega Group wants him. Simply put, his brilliance makes him indispensable in whatever field he is in...and for some reason, him being indispensable in the energy department makes him rather desirable to the Omega Group. There are a few letters in here from the group that are absolutely _fawning_ over his work in power transference and storage.”

“...sorry, that was enlightening and all-” Samantha said, leaning forward and blinking her eyes rapidly. “-but you _recreated_ the Wunderwaffe?” Her voice jumped up a notch, and Richtofen nodded.

“Relax, Sammy. I didn’t go about and try recreating Element 115, that shit can stay dead and gone in the nothingness that is the Dark Aether, I’m using an alternative power source for the Wunderwaffe!” He waved his hands and the wonder weapon in question manifested on the table. “It is powered by the hatred and rage people around the world feel for me in my Jeff Bezos persona! Me, Jeff Bezos, upsetting the economy and superseding basic functions in society about thirty years too early!” 

“That’s actually kinda brilliant.” Yirina said, shaking her head fondly. 

“If I do say so myself.” Richtofen quipped. “The prototype attempted to harness the general horniness that permeates humanity as a whole but the weapon kept melting down from power overloads. Guess even a lightning gun has limits on how much power it can harness at any one point in time.”

“Thank you for assuaging my fears.” Samantha said. “Now, back to Peck?”

“Right, Peck.” Richtofen said. “Now, unfortunately, I’m in the dark regarding where he went as much as you are, after all, we’re not _omniscient._ Omni _potent,_ yes. But the ability to build a bazillion-dollar company overnight doesn’t help us find Peck.”

“I keep telling you, you should’ve invented Facebook.” Yirina interjected, and Richtofen threw up a hand in response.

“Look, I want to be known as a jackass who helps the world, not a _douchebag_ who divides it! Let Zark Muckerberg or whatever the hell his name is have his glory in 2004, and the blame in 2016 through 2020.” The man exclaimed. 

“Oh my god, not _that_ line of thought.” Samantha muttered. “So, back to Peck, we’ve found absolutely nothing of value except for the reason why the Omega Group was so hell-bent on grabbing him?”

“Au contraire, Sammy!” Richtofen said. “If the Omega Group wants him for his energy-manipulation skills, then whatever it is they plan on doing is related to that work! And as such, while we can’t track Peck, we can track people buying stuff on Amazon that’s related to that field. Which is where my multi-bazillion dollar company comes in handy!” Standing up, Richtofen sorted all the papers recovered from Peck’s office into a single stack with a flick of his fingers. “I will keep tabs on everyone who so much as buys a battery and asks for delivery to somewhere in the USSR. And you two keep doing whatever it is that you do out there that makes Perseus piss his pants when your names cross his desk.”

“Oh, _that_ we can do.” Yirina said with a grin. “Right, Sam?”

“Absolutely.” She said. “Bastard owes me a _big, unpayable debt_ for what he did to me. And I intend to collect in full.”

“Well, I’ll help with that. When you actually find him, and not a second beforehand.” Richtofen clarified, standing up. “Until then, I’ll be running Amazon, but you’re always welcome to pop on in if you need me.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Samantha said. “See you around, Eddie.” 

“Have fun!” Yirina said, waving jauntily as Edward opened a portal and vanished into the Aether. “God, I missed him. You two don’t see each other often enough for people who have the powers that you do.” Samantha shrugged and leaned back in her seat, clasping her hands.

“We have our reasons to maintain distance, Yiri.”

“Is it because of what his Ultimis and Primis incarnations did?” Asked the redhead.

“Something like that.” Samantha said. “I know Eddie’s a very different person than them, but I still can’t get what they’ve done out of my head some nights, and I know that while he didn’t personally live through the horrors I put his previous incarnations through, they still haunt him every now and then.” She sighed and called a drink to her hand, taking a long pull from it. “We’ll always be family, of course, but...well, there’s a reason why he and I have led very different lives.”

Yirina nodded. “I get that.” She said. “All that shit with the multiverse, the endless cycle, to say nothing of his past self being more-or-less responsible for killing your father over and over and over...I can see why you two would go your separate ways and keep that distance most days.”

“He’s a much better man than his other two incarnations, I won’t deny that.” Samantha said, absentmindedly drawing Starfang and running her finger along the shield’s smooth metal, eliciting a low hum from her actions. “But we’ll always have a bit of a divide there, simply because of how _Maxis and Richtofen_ has always been a recipe for disaster.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back?” Yirina asked. “To when your father was alive, when Fluffy was around, when things were simpler for you?” 

Samantha shook her head. “What I’ve gained...it’s worth all the pain and suffering. You. My home. A world free of the Apothicons.”

_“Sunstone.”_

Nodding, Samantha set the shield down on the table. “Yeah.” She said, her thoughts flitting to her child, running around somewhere in East Berlin, if what little she could grasp out of their tattered, broken bond that her child was blissfully unaware of was any indication. “I should really return the shield to them.”

“I thought we weren’t doing that until later.” Yirina observed, and Samantha got up, the shield following her as she went. 

“You and I both know that _Sunstone_ is a walking, talking disaster magnet, a bad luck charm, to say the least. And besides, it kind of hurts to see them running around with an XM4 when their real specialty is the shield they’ve used all their life. Makes me feel like I wasted all those years training them to use Starfang, only to pick up a rifle. A _rifle._ A good rifle and one that Captain Tank Dempsey, the Captain America of Dimension 0616MCFU would be proud of, but still, a rifle.” Samantha said, earning a sardonic laugh out of Yirina.

“Whatever suits you, sis.” She said. 

“I’ll be right back.” Samantha said, before vanishing from sight. A moment later, she reappeared. “And now _Sunstone_ has the weapon they’ve spent their entire life training how to use back with them again. Took the liberty of giving them some clothes to match the shield while I was at it.”

“You spoil them.” Yirina teased, and Samantha shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t really have a mom, so I have to make it up all on my own.”

//

“Good morning from Kiev, Lazar.”

“I’m not sure it can be considered a _good_ morning, Kwan, but I’ll take it anyways.” Said Lazar, voice sounding slightly amused over the phone. “It’s been raining cats and dogs out here all morning long.”

“Lucky you.” Kwan said, staring up at the ceiling of the cheap, one-star hotel that the team had been using as an impromptu base during their time in Kiev. “We’re lucky we have running water at this point. Been running a bit ragged lately.” 

“The search in Kiev not going as well as you would’ve hoped?” Lazar asked, and Kwan made a humming noise that roughly said _yes._

“The warehouse didn’t have a whole lot to offer, and we’ve combed over the thing for days now, to absolutely no avail. Mason and Woods are out having some time to themselves, and Bulldozer and Zeyna are working on the car. Weaver’s...somewhere around here, and Baker...” Kwan trailed off as Baker, apparently summoned by the god of good timing, poked his head in.

“Refresh my memory, whose turn is it to shower today?”

“...is demonstrating why being in this hotel is not going all too well.” She finished, and Lazar chuckled. “I haven’t felt this grimy in a while.”

“Well, when you get here, I’ll be sure to reserve a nice chunk of hot water and a fresh bar of soap just for you.” Said the Israeli. “In the meantime, you have fun over there in Kiev.”

“How are things in Berlin?” Kwan asked, twirling a stray bit of her hair. “Any luck on the Volkov front?”

“According to their last report, Bell and Park are running surveillance on Kraus.” Lazar said. “But the expenses that are being charged to Adler’s account suggest that they’re also taking the time to enjoy all the East Berlin wonders, and they’re definitely not sparing any expense on it. They’re practically treating it like a honeymoon.” The man sighed fondly. “Those two grew very close very fast, if you ask me.”

“They’re kindred spirits, just like us.” Kwan said. “And she was taking care of Bell while they were recovering from Trabzon, all those weeks spent watching over them, making sure that they recovered on schedule...is it really a big surprise the two of them are so close?”

“No, I suppose not.” Lazar responded. “...so what you’re saying is that I should go and get myself injured, so you can take care of me?” Lazar asked, tone teasing, earning a laugh out of Kwan.

“The way we’re going, it might be the other way around.” Kwan said. “Assuming one can injure themselves from boredom, anyways.”

“If something exciting doesn’t happen around the safehouse soon, I might get back to you on that one.” Lazar quipped. “The most that’s happened around here are a bunch of phone calls from the bigwigs at Langley and Washington. Not exactly exciting.”

“What, Adler’s westerns aren’t your thing?” Kwan asked, and Lazar made an affirmative noise.

“I’m more of a fan of the chick flicks…” He said, earning a giggle from Kwan. “...what? After all this time in the military, any movie where girls are the focus makes me happy.”

“Once I’m back from Kiev, we’ll have to sit down and watch some of these chick flicks.” Kwan said. “I’ll make the food, if you pick the movies.” In response, Lazar chuckled.

“Now that’s something worth fighting for, Kwan.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kwan chimed. “Of course the problem is that the safehouse doesn’t exactly have a dedicated movie-watching spot, but I’m sure we can manage somehow, right?”

“Oh, yes, yes we can.” Lazar said. “I’ll get Sims to bring in a couch, get a better TV than the one on Adler’s desk. Maybe-”

Something exploded off in the distance.

Gawking at the fireball, Kwan picked up her jaws and rolled off the bed, grabbing at her gun just as Baker and Bulldozer and Zeyna all came rushing in to grab their gear. “Listen Lazar, I’m gonna have to call you back-” She grumbled. 

“-I think Mason and Woods just did something stupid.”

//

**_Where The Lines Overlap_ **

**_“Bell” - CIA Special Activities Division, Ex-KGB_ **

**_East Berlin - Europe_ **

**_February 19, 1981_ **

“This has been a surprisingly boring op so far.”

“I wouldn’t call what we’ve been doing over the last few days _boring-”_ Quipped Helen, dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe and absolutely nothing else, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “-but it is true that all we’ve done is turn this place into our little command center, stalk Kraus during the daytime, fuck each other senseless during the nighttime, and then do it all over again the next day.”

“That’s an oversimplification of events, but accurate.” You said, staring at the nearby phone book that you’d used to locate Kraus. You’d spent more time than you would ever care to admit searching for his name, and then using that as a basis to figure out exactly where he lived, which Helen had managed to narrow down for you because she was way better at this whole spy thing than you were. Blame your _violent tendencies_ for that one, not everyone could be _Professional_ and _Reliable,_ unlike Helen, who was definitely the adult in the room at the safehouse, regardless of what Hudson thought about himself. 

“Okay, so, recap. We know Kraus lives in an apartment complex parallel to that quaint little electronics shop on Ninth, we know the exact apartment he lives in, and _who_ lives in it, but we can’t get in because there’s always someone home.” You said, and Helen--angling herself to give you a better look at her almost-entirely naked body because _hell yes she was your girlfriend good job you,_ nodded, adjusting her glasses slightly. 

“According to the public database, he’s a married man, to one Edda Kraus. And though no one has yet figured it out, from what little we’ve seen of the woman when she ventures out of her apartment, _never_ with her husband I might note, it seems that she’s been ah...in an unhappy marriage for a while.” She noted, scribbling down notes in a journal. “I would presume they have blowouts on the daily and at least part of the reason he goes out every day is to get away from her because divorcing her would bring too much attention down on his head. Though I’ve no doubt he’d beat her like a rug if he knew he could get away with it, the walls are thin there in that block so that affords her a small measure of security.”

“So taking him out is probably doing her a favor?” You asked.

“Possibly.” Helen said. “But we can’t go and whack him upside the head just yet, he has to lead us to Volkov, who still isn’t due to arrive for another three days.”

“And we don’t even know the time or place for the meeting.” You mumbled, flopping over on the bed. “How are we supposed to find that out?”

“Break into his apartment and bug the crap out of it?” Helen asked. You barked a laugh, and she frowned slightly, flicking a wadded up paper ball at you. “I’m being serious here, Bell. One of us can sneak in and plant a bunch of trackers and listening devices in there.”

Deflecting the oncoming paper projectile, you waved your hand in a non-committal action. “I-I, you’re asking _me,_ the one who helped tear up an airport in Trabzon, with _Violent Tendencies_ in big bold letters on my psych profile, to be stealthy!” 

“You’ve done a fairly good job of it so far.” Helen said. “But you do bring up a good point. Maybe I should be the one going in there.”

“That’s probably a better idea.” You said. “Then I can barge in and save you if he finds you or something.”

“An excellent proposition!” Helen replied, jumping up from her seat as the storm suddenly intensified with a flash of lightning. You flinched, and then noticed Helen walk over to her suitcase. “Come on, now’s a good time to use the storm’s cover to go and _stalk_ Kraus a few hours early.” She said, and in front of you, she pulled out clothes and dropped the robe, giving you a _really_ good look at her as she began swiftly throwing them on. “While I appreciate the attention, please don’t just stand there and admire me, Bell. Get dressed, we’re gonna go stalking!”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely!” You stammered, rolling off the bed and diving for your suitcase. You picked out something that wouldn’t draw too much attention--fairly mute colors, with a dash of vibrancy just to not look entirely Gothic, kicked on your shoes and met Helen by the door. “You look good.” You said, and Helen kissed you on the cheek.

“You always say that, even if I’m dressed in nothing but a towel.” She said, pulling the door open and dragging you out into the hall. “But today I would be happy to agree with your assessment.”

“You’re quite stylish today, if I may say so myself. Really rocking the spy look.” You chimed, the two of you hastily jumping into the elevator and then exiting the hotel, out into the pouring rain. “I got it.” You said, bringing out an umbrella and throwing it over the two of you. “Though seeing as you lived in England you’re probably used to the rain.”

“Just because I’m used to it pouring about every day doesn’t mean that I _like_ it.” Helen said. “I very much prefer the sunshine and warmth.”

“And I imagine you look damn good in a bikini.” You mused.

“Oh, I look _damn_ good.” Helen chimed, smirking at you. “Maybe if we get Adler to fund us an op somewhere sunny and warm, you can see me in it. Even though you usually see me in less, and that seems to be good enough for you most days.”

“Just because I like a candy bar doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the wrapper.” You remarked, earning a laugh from Helen as the two of you traveled down the unsurprisingly empty streets. “Not a lot of people out here. Good, that gives us some privacy.”

“It’s pouring, only someone with business to do would be out here, like-” Helen shut up all of a sudden, and then pulled you into an alleyway in a hurry. “Close the umbrella now!” She hissed, and you did so, shuddering as the rain began to pour down on you and her in full intensity. You were about to voice the question on the tip of your lips, when Kraus, looking rather grumpy, went right on by, blissfully unaware of the two would-be pursuers just right there, a few feet away.

“...well, that’s some good luck right there.” You muttered, before Helen began pulling you in the opposite direction. “Uh, he’s going that way?” You breathed, pointing at where Kraus had been walking.

“This way will allow us to flank him without following behind him.” Helen clarified.

“Oh, well, okay then.”

“Wonder where he’s going, he usually doesn’t venture out this far. Must’ve had a bad blowout with his wife.” Murmured the Englishwoman, making sure to keep Kraus in sight, but out of _his_ sight as the two of you trailed him across the city. “You’re armed, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my sidearm and a knife on me.” You said.

“Good. If this gets ugly we might need them.” Helen responded, watching and following as Kraus went down one street, then another.

“What about you, are you armed?” You asked, and Helen nodded. 

“I’m always armed, _Starlight.”_

Raising an eyebrow in bemused confused intrigue, you nodded in silent acknowledgement of her statement and watched as Kraus went into a bookstore. “A bookstore? What, is he an intellectual all of a sudden?” You asked, looking at Helen and following her, walking by it, subtly-attempting to look into the windows. Inside, Kraus was speaking to-

“Volkov.”

 _“What?”_ You squeaked, resisting the urge to stare as you and Helen ambled to a slow stop and peered inside the store, catching a long, good glimpse of the mafia boss himself, chatting with Kraus like there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it. “The fuck is he doing here? His meeting is supposed to be three days from now! What the absolute hell-” Volkov, as if seeming to sense something, began to turn, and then Helen’s hand clamped around your mouth as she dragged you away from the window and down the nearest alley as fast as possible.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Helen said, taking her hand off your mouth and pulling you _hard_ down the street. “We have to warn the others, _now.”_

“I agree.” You said, and the two of you broke into a dead sprint, tearing across the side-streets and alleys as fast and as quietly as you could, back to the safety of the hotel. Your mind’s eye, in the meantime, began to flare as strange memories flitted across your vision, as Helen threw open the hotel door, went past the receptionist with you in tow like all hell was chasing her, and into the elevator with nary a word.

_We will move the weapons to Volkov in Berlin._

_In Berlin._

_Berlin._

_Volkov. Berlin. Weapons._

_From there, we fly to-_

“Bell, snap out of it!” Helen hissed, squeezing your hand and shoving you back to reality. You gasped and stumbled to the hotel room, Helen shoving the door open and shutting it as soon as you had gone in with her, locking it. “You okay?” She asked, going for her comm and throwing it open, hastily typing a message to Adler.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...okay…” Your voice trailed off, as on the bed, which was nice and neat once more, unlike the mess that had been made when you and Helen had woken up and promptly gotten into some _recreational activities,_ was a red, white and blue discus-shaped shield, and a matching uniform to accompany it. Walking forward, you noticed a note written in beautiful handwriting placed right next to the ensemble.

_A touch of home, seeing as you can’t come back just yet. - Love, Mom._

_P.S. I like your girlfriend. She has my approval. Bring her over sometime._

“It’s from my mother.” You said, smiling as you picked up the shield and ran your fingers along it, old memories and lessons jumping to the forefront of your mind. “It’s called _Starfang._ She can block anything, rebound off of surfaces and opponents alike.” You began taking off your clothes and throwing on the colorful uniform, muscle memory reminding you where each and every piece fit. “It’s an old family heirloom, I know exactly how to use it.”

“Good, I’m glad you remember-” Helen said, a _snap-hiss_ and a soft hum filled the air. You turned around and saw Helen, a pair of blue-hued lightsabers in her hands, looking worriedly out the window as screeching tires filled the air.

“-because we’ve been followed.”

//

**_CIA Safehouse E9_ **

“Adler, we need to talk.”

“Again? Hudson, I’m flattered by the attention, but you’re married. What will Jenny think?” Adler quipped, before the realization of what he said hit him. _Goddammit Sims, I should not have had that drink after breakfast, no matter how good it was._ He thought, before Hudson, unimpressed, shut the door to Adler’s office. “What is it now?”

“Washington’s got an update that might be of interest to you.” Said the bald man. “Aldrich was found dead in an alley after reports of someone being chased through the streets of Langley began cropping up, and one of our top scientists, Doctor William Peck, has disappeared. Local police received reports of gunfire and explosions around the building he worked at, and when they arrived on scene, there were no less than a hundred dead soldiers wearing gear that is distinctly Soviet in nature lying around the place, and the building itself was a mess.”

“That’s not a coincidence.” Adler conceded. “Aldrich helps us find _Waypoint Six,_ and then ends up dead, and Peck goes MIA shortly thereafter. I’m not saying it’s concrete proof it’s Perseus, but it fits the playbook.” He instinctively lit a cigarette, taking a long drag of it, blowing the smoke out as he leaned against the glass window. “It’s worth looking into after the Volkov situation is resolved, and if Mason and Woods come back from Kiev anytime soon.”

“I don’t think you have time to foist this off onto one of them.” Hudson said. “Peck being in the wild is a major security risk, he knows a lot about our leading edge tech related to energy conservation and conduction. It’s not bleeding-edge weapons tech, but it could still enable the Soviets to figure something out to win the Cold War.”

“So what, you want me to take a couple of others out into the field, go hunting for this guy?” Adler asked. “Volkov is due to arrive in Berlin in a few days and we have to be ready to take him down when he shows himself.”

“And if Peck goes to work for the Soviets and they roll out a nuclear bomb that can wipe out a country-” Hudson began, before cutting himself off as everything fell into place. “-you know what, you’re right.” He said after a moment. “Peck’s not a priority when we have a big fish well on his way to being snagged. One thing at a time.” 

“Glad you see it my way.” Adler said, the Darkness rolling away from him and back into the Force. “How about this? We’ll put Peck up on the board and I’ll have Sims and Lazar start looking into him. Give them something to do while Hunter and I keep running through all the intel we have on Perseus and Volkov. Besides, it doesn’t seem like he’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s acceptable.” Hudson said. “Hopefully Mason’s team will be back soon.” Adler nodded his agreement and opened the office door, following Hudson outside...just as his communicator, conveniently left on his desk instead of in his pocket, began to buzz with an urgent message the man hadn’t heard as the door swung shut.

“I’m sure they’re having an easy time of it.”

//

Groaning, Mason attempted to get up, wondering what the hell had just happened.

“...the fuck?” He breathed, hearing what sounded like gunfire and screaming somewhere off in the distance. Something exploded somewhere around him, and suddenly, a figure grabbed Mason and began hauling him into what he hoped was cover as his mind caught up with what had happened. Stepping out of the café with Woods, hand in hand with the man, hailing a taxi, seeing someone with a rocket launcher _step out of the other side of the street-_

“Mason!”

Attempting...and failing, for the second time to get up, Mason felt his head bump against something, as Woods came into his field of view. “Mason, no, no, don’t try getting up buddy, you’re in no shape to move-” He clipped, before leaning over whatever it was he’d dragged Mason behind to fire on their attackers. “-come on, stay with me Al, you’ve been shot.”

_Oh, so that’s why-_

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how I feel, Bell is either wearing the U.S. Agent costume from The Falcon & The Winter Soldier, or one of Captain America's Uniforms, either from The First Avenger or Avengers: Endgame.


End file.
